


Life of a Sinner, Heart of a Saint

by FastAndAdrift



Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Bisexual Male Character, Crazy Jane Wreaks Havoc, Everyone Needs A Hug, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Kipling is an arrogant drunk, Larry Needs Help, M/M, Mindfuck, Other, Queer Themes, Slow Burn, Soemone Help Cliff, Swearing, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FastAndAdrift/pseuds/FastAndAdrift
Summary: Non Canon-Compliant mid 2x04 baby! After that it's all AU territory! (SPOILERS INSIDE)Cliff's empty stare is part of him. Larry knows better than to question it, even if his guts often tells him to. They all got some business to deal with. He's no different. But the second time the man shutdown. It doesn't sit alright with him anymore. Is this a new mess he's gotten into? It's barely the tenth today, what's a new one if not part of this new life?(Cliff is a big bisexual mess and he needs to feel human in order to feel alright with his new state of robot on the daily. Larry needs to feel okay about his sexuality and new body as well and somehow they find a happy middle together. 'tis a shame it all happens in their head and no one else is aware.)Better chapters than my summary, I swear I'll make it better soon. But don't let my messy brief keep you from this ball of fluff and angst.
Relationships: Cliff Steele & Larry Trainor, Cliff Steele/Larry Trainor, Crazy Jane & Cliff Steele, Rita Farr & Larry Trainor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. -1-

**Ch1**

  
  


Fuck. Fuck. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have expected anything to go well with Clara. But wasn’t all it took? All of those fucking fantasies to get so close to reality, that maybe somewhere, in any of these realities, that he really stood a fucking chance and that’d she had give up the tight hand she had on the door knob and gave her deadbeat dad a old hug? 

He knew he’s unfamiliar territory, heck, he had so for so long, he had taken his heavy fingers lazily cornering every inch of what he could almost call his new body, to find out that things weren’t going to be the same. Not that his fucking reflection hadn’t done the trick as well. If he was honest with himself, his ugly mug was still one of his many nightmares.

But it was one thing to see it, but he didn’t really get to feel it. And that’s that fucking numbness that was keeping him more than awake. This constant nerve pressing where he couldn’t respond back to anymore. Scratch that itch right off. 

He had made it such a deal for none of the others to touch him anymore. It’d be such of a reminder that he had no friggin’ chance of fucking feeling it. And the touch, if any were to be done, just felt like a bitter kick in the groin. And sometimes he even wished for those. That’s so not fair. He got to touch people, because that was one of the only things he had left. His impact on others, but they didn’t get to steal it away didn’t they? 

He’d trade in for any of the others within the same second. And he knew that was fucking wrong, but it didn’t made it any less true. Sure they had their troubles and they hijacked their own happiness. But at least there was some sliver of hope on them, he was nothing but forgotten rust of what had been bronze. He knew better than to call himself gold, because nothing like this would happen to golden people. Golden people just didn’t get into this to begin with, they were buttfucking clean. Ass wipes and menthol chewing gum motherfuckers. Gold people didn’t own the flaws he did for Fucking Niles to use. Bastard. 

It does take a tool. The weight of his thoughts, the constant thinking, the way his brains tried to fake in any familiarity. Maybe he did feel the wind on the side of his hairless head when he watched the beautiful scene outside with Jane. But he’s aware that if he’s anything, is a token of the past. The damn past he’s so running away from on the daily. If he wasn’t such a coward, he’d have done way more...and less. But he didn’t get to dwell on that, because deeds were so fucking done and there was no voodo to make it go back. To fix what has been of his own choices, he knew he’d do it twice if he didn’t get to die. 

  
  


Deep fucking down. He knew he’d be right back to where he was, if he had just finished in the hospital alive with them. That no tragedy could make him like alcool and sex any less. That’s what he had been built on and it had been the autel of his sacrifice. And that’s probably the fucked up thing that would remind him, that his fucking death even after so long, didn’t mattered. 

His daughter moved on, hell, even got a new father figure, and also now was about to be a mother on her own. He couldn’t accept fully the pride of her path, even if he hated how she didn’t seem to recognize him for shits. Even with the watch, as if that wasn’t a great deal to prove himself _. -I mean, really?-  _

If he were to guess where he’d probably end up, is on a shelf like a broken toy. 

To be woken up for when someone needs a big robotman to save the day. 

On his worst days, he’d actually settle with that. 

It was better than to live his life dead. 

_ Wasn’t it?  _

  
  


_ \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

  
  
  


Larry sighed and raised his hands on his hips under Rita's stare. 

<< I found him after Niles told me he gave him methamphetamines. She said with her distasteful judgement and kind apology of a whisper. She knew just as well why, but it didn’t make it easier for them to deal with this.

Larry looked back to the robotman, hand on his knees and his stare off into the deep underground that was the dirty floors of the room. He looked so empty and out of any life left.

He had to fight the urge to relate, if anything he was up to crawl up into a corner and let the day be done as well. But he did become the leader when Niles was not available. That role was there, ruined with all of the other ones. Such a mistake if they asked him, but they never did. He also wondered why him, but it didn’t matter now. Cliff needed them and somehow, the negative man buzzed his chest more than ever. And this didn’t smell nice to resolve. Well, shit.

-Maybe Cyborg can help by scanning him. Added Rita’s worrisome tone, 

Larry sighed once again. This day felt already too long for his taste. 

  
-Yeah maybe. >>


	2. -2-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliff is a big robot mess. (duh!) Partying doesn't feel as good as he tought it would. The past's a fucking joke. His dreams never felt more real, strikingly so when he caught the stare of piercing blue eyes. What the fuck Larry? 
> 
> (Starts right after Niles asking if Cliff wants Meth.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing a earlier just for fun and meat. Then let's go get some fun in dreamland lads!

**_Earlier_ **

The spinning thoughts felt all over the place. Hell, he had genuinely managed to just think and do nothing else for about a decade back then. It felt too easy to just forget about the world around him. He couldn’t genuinely connect. And could you blame him? It’s not everyday you realize you’ll never get to feel anyone, _touch_ . That..you’re basically a broken toy with rusted spare parts. It was freaking scary to realize he actually didn’t need anything to stay alive. If any tweaking was to be done, Niles would do it in a proper silence. He actually _could_ just sit on that damn chair and stay there until the world killed itself. But it was just it. Feeling out of place, memories running in like a broken record. Maybe that’s why he had started to go help the others. To get to forget about the layers of pain that just kept on accumulating in his mind. 

He used to fucking laugh at those gossiping chicks at the tracks, figuring they’d come just to share the new things happening around them whilst eating stale popcorn or whatever they fancied that day. Opinions were like assholes, everyone had one. And somehow, without the internet, people used to just straight up tell it like it is. The talks were probably fucking boring, but the connection was there. Feeling like they belonged and trash talked anything that came by. Cliff thinks about it with such nostalgia that he’s jealous even of _them._ That’s how fucking low he is. Fantasies about terrible housewives shouldn’t make him fucking weap but they do, because everyone has more rights than he has. And somehow he had never got to feel that before. 

He’d rarely gave them more than a stare, meaning he’d maybe have a quick fuck once in a while when one looked enough pretty from behind. He couldn’t tell how many knees sported burns from the carpets because of him. The sight of meaty thighs in tight chalk skirts had him going long enough. Life had felt lame enough to justify the craving. But god, he would give a lot of himself just to go back. Scratch that, he’d give anything. 

Funnily enough he used to call himself a romantic. He was quite the enthousiast towards the mundane of life. He had been thrilled to know Kate was pregnant. He had been so excited in the pit of his stomach to just downright propose at the fair. Life felt all in order, except that he was an alcoolic and a sex addict. And that had been his downfall, he was sure of it. 

Never settling for what he had, simply craving more, more and even _more._

Fuck that had been empty, the fame seemed to have made him feel so full at first. But even that didn’t fill the grave of his needs. The rush of acceleration, the smell of burned tires..The celebrities, they used to not tell you how lonely they felt. And somehow, it was justified. 

Cliff had just said _yes_ to Niles, drugs felt like the only thing to do. And actually he didn’t even thought he was allowed some. Given that he was a brain in a jar, he knew this was a one shot, one of a few perhaps. But Meth had been there in his time, and he downright knew he couldn’t do it more than a few times before his tolerance would show itself. It felt fucked up, to know that even on drugs, he wouldn’t feel things prickling at limbs. His neck hairs startle up or goosebumps find his way under his skin. He just danced off, and he figured that if he ever had a face, he’d have fucking have done it with strings of tears along his face all evening. His life was a fucking mess, but he could handle feeling and seeing pretty things for a few hours right? No matter how happy he felt, how his fucking chest felt like glowing. Things wouldn’t change.

The meth could make him shit rainbows for all he knew, his life would stay miserable. Maybe that’s just what he deserves.

Stumbling into the corridor with a giggle that would put highschoolers at shame, he found the comfort of the dimmed down music to sit on the chair. 

This felt like those things they teach you about in university, those metaphors right? That he was there, in the _-probably-_ cold cave listening in to the funky music of the life of the party. Feeling out of place, even when he tried, he couldn’t seem to relate. And seeing ghost having sex didn’t make it easier, no matter how nice to the eye it was. It was one thing to feel your dick throb and be aware that you had none. 

He knew the low would hit pretty soon, but god he wished he could just walk up to a drive thru and eat a goddamn hamburger in the parking lot right now.

He didn’t need or could eat, but he was so fucking hungry. He could almost feel his stomach growl at the moon. But having to deal with walking back to the exit, bumping into sweaty bodies, the stares and downright knowing it would be of no use to begin with started to piss him off. He groaned to himself, figuring he’d stay here until he’s done feeling so mixed up. The sound of his heavy finger scratching the wood chair, maybe he was setting himself up to failure. 

The thoughts would stay, they always did. Sometimes he had to steer himself back to be aware of his surroundings. To answer a question or simply react to things. But there was no one, and god he was so lonely. If he had thought he was empty back then, he had never met the cold embrace of rust. 

  
  


**_Now_ **

  
  


He knew dreams were a thing, he would get them sometimes. Barely remembering any of them actually. Terrifying nightmares that would fit right in between exorcism movies and vampire chick flicks. He could already imagine such a romcom, fucked up bot, cyborg cop, crazy chicks and gay pilot. 

He knew he was probably standing up in his room or something, that the thoughts had given in to his tired tortured brain. He hadn’t given it further thought, memories feeling far out of reach other than for facts. 

But goddamn it felt right to take a piss right now. Feeling the slender of flesh in his left hand. It felt so right to hold its weight. He could feel the way his bladder would empty himself and how he could almost control his flow. Shit was satisfying, what could he say. He could feel the stagnant silence of the room out of his own distracting noise. His exhales and heartbeats. - _God, please someone never end that dream._ \- He felt himself wish for dear life. 

His human palm against the flush, he carefully closed himself up. Remembering that lingering pain of a nasty zipper. He chuckled to himself and tried to keep calm, he figured that those kinds of dreams didn’t happen often. He rarely was aware enough as his old self. But fuck did it make him smile. He caught the sight of himself in the mirror and felt haunted. It felt so right, so..him. But that wasn’t right anymore..was it? 

He ran his hands under the water, and they could hate him for it, but he hadn’t been much of a man who washed his hands simply for a piss. But tonight was a special type of night, he could feel the warm water running against his fingers. He could moan, but something like that wouldn’t run right in a public bathroom. 

He exhaled deeply before using that same water to splash his face. Enjoying the trickle of drops that stayed on his skin. Almost admiring them in the mirror. Oh being wet, such an underrated thing. He stood up, admiring his reflection. Sure he missed his blue suit for him to feel whole. It’s like this uniform had stuck to him even in the within of his soul. He had always felt more attractive or nice to look at in it. He wasn’t about to get picky on clothes and the way he was sporting his new leather vest wasn’t so bad either. It felt loose on his shoulders, almost amusingly so.

He was amazed at the definition of his dream, the way he could look back at his hands twice and find the same amount of fingers to count. 

It didn’t take long before curiosity kicked in, sure he could probably rub one out in the single stall. But he’s deeply afraid it’ll startle him awake. And maybe there was a hot piece of ass not far for him to enjoy being _alive_ with.

He walked up to the door with no hesitation, he had seen the bathroom, the way wood was almost everywhere. The seventies was a telltale for the plague of wood and splash of colors everywhere. It made him think of his childhood, going to pick up his old man after midnight. Barely able to reach the gas pedal with one foot. As he picked up the pace outside of the bathroom, he found himself right. Typical bar, deep ingrained wooden counter, tiles with funky designs on the floor. 

He was aware he was still in a dream by the fact every face he caught, would not be the same every few seconds. As if his brain couldn’t keep up with the way they caught his stare. Such a thing could probably cause a headache soon. But He choose to just stare at the wall of booze, the sight of it did make him thirsty.

He wondered if dream him could become drunk or would he just act drunk. As if both weren't similar enough. He groaned an order, something along the line of an old fashioned. Hm, the glass that reached his hand with a napkin tightly under made him quiver.

How far could he go? Maybe he was working on a limited timeframe. 

And now that he had time to grow accustomed to his surroundings, he could recall having used meth earlier. Maybe that was it, what’s left of it? 

He hadn’t heard of vivid lucid dreaming on meth before now. 

The stare that lingered too long for his taste made him way too curious, he turned his head quickly. It would be a blur, he was convinced of it. Simply his paranoia of feeling watched once again. 

But two beautiful eyes caught his, the blue of them almost reminded him of his own. He fought the urge of the thought that they weren’t blue anymore.

<< _Is this really what you looked like? I figured you’d be..different. Taller perhaps._

Lingered a voice that Cliff knew better than ever. 

He felt his inside startle from the realization. 

- _Larry?_ His voice came out rough and greasy, but a sip of his drink got it oiled up. 

The man’s smile was surprising, after all these times were sadness dripped out of the man’s voice. He just caught the fact he had never seen the man smile before. It was a sight he could get easily used to. Man’s a model. If he hadn’t been a pilot. Cliff would have seen him in a suit on fancy magazines. 

- _The one and only Cliff._ His stare grew more serious. Painfully so. 

- _What the fuck are you doing in my dream? I only saw pictures, there’s no way I’d know what you look like! And you never told me about that jaw, fuck. You're holding out on me aren’t you?_ He said growing worried by the second. He ignored the fact his swears didn’t felt as satisfying in this voice. Less loud, more meaty, it was a terrifying thing to hear. His thoughts coming back in, he couldn’t but think--

- _This isn’t a dream Cliff._ Confirmed the slightly disapproving tone of his heavily radiated friend. >>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew i'd write about soemone enjoying taking a piss. Nobody perhaps! 
> 
> (Maybe I'll clean this chapter or get a beta one day, but until then I treat this as a crackfic a bit. So more fun than actual editing. Sorry in advance!) You have every right to tell me if you have tips to help my grammar or anything really. I'm almost asking for it by not editing. 
> 
> -4 august 2020- 
> 
> -AD


	3. -3-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where are they? Why does it feel so weird to be human again? Larry didn't expect to get on his lap to see what Cliff been up to. Negative man has some pretty interesting urges.  
> (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)

<< _What the actual fuck Larry? What is this then!_ He replied as the flat of his palm slapped the wooden counter, almost startling a few heads towards them. The unfamiliar sting of his hand struck him further in his confusion and fury. _Fuck!_ He barked at the hurting hand, sheltering it as he realized he couldn’t just hit things without some adjustments.

The sting left him wishing for his robot hand. Maybe it’d have made a dent in the wooden frame, this left him unsatisfied. Instead of damaging things, he had only made it harder for himself. The thoughts bubbled in and Cliff didn’t find the strength to fight them.

He observed what he realized was just a wish, this was it right? Without Clara and Kate, with his flesh and body. Was it actually a fantasy? Why was Larry in his fantasy? Yes he was a friend, a pain in the ass sometimes but he remained somewhat unproblematic. 

What in the living fuck were they in? He felt his eyes get wider as he added quickly. 

_It’s not one of Nobody’s trick right_? His voice was affirmative but oh so hesitant. 

The stare of the man caught his once again, he couldn’t dare think about how difficult he was making it for Larry to answer. Things had just to be let out, he couldn’t tame it. He needed soothing, something, anything. 

- _It isn’t nobody. Or at least we don’t think so._ Added the young lad with such a genuine worry in the spark of his eyes.>>

  
  
  
  
  


**Earlier**

  
  


Scanning hadn’t done much, as Victor had predicted. It hadn’t hurt to try, if anything. They figured he was all in his head, some words about dissociative disorder, or a simple breakdown, the man could be burned out for all they knew. 

Larry couldn’t let it alone. And it wasn’t the lack of trying. The second he’d get by his room, he’d have somewhat of a hostile chest host. He’d go to bed feeling the weight of a dilemma weighting on his chest. Cheeky of him, he wouldn’t tell him why this time was so important. With the decades, of course Cliff had shut down many times. The man was only so much with a few bolts running loose. Nevertheless Larry would have wanted it to be simple. Like a coma, a long rest or simply some time needed alone. With the years it had become quite the roller coaster in here, maybe Cliff was only the first of them falling like flies. Maybe that just showed how much he could take in before having enough. The mentality of his time made him somewhat cautious of what it could be, Cliff would have asked for help if he needed any right? But then, why would he have? Most of them ran day by day with no allegiance, or at least with the allegiance that they cared. But that could change, no amount of weird spells, alternate world or any of this meant worth dying for. But yet here they were, making it their choice simply for the fact that not much of them valued their life for what they actually were. It wasn’t hard to feel like a fuck up, considering how badly they were injured inside. But there was this fond feeling of understanding, the one that had led them to care for each other. Orphaned puppies left in a box to fend for themselves. And by that definition, maybe yeah, he actually cared for the guy. He’d probably try to help if he had the opportunity on the field. So it wasn’t such a stretch for him to actually help in the comfort of the manor. Or at least that’s what made the more sense as to why he was there again. His feets found the spot where the laying dormant robot had been staying for a while. Negative guy was buzzing in his ears and he could feel him laying under the thin veil of his chest.

<< _What do you want?_ He said out loud, figuring it worked for both Cliff and his host. His voice was low and almost whiny. He didn’t wish to complain, but there wasn’t a lot to work with here. 

_Give me something, anything. Seriously, how can I help if you don’t tell me anything?_ He added, almost negotiating with the soul terrorist. He waited in the silence, breathing in and out. He then felt his hand get warm, almost in a way getting close to a fire got to you. The nerves recognized the pattern of fire, but there wasn’t any. He felt even more puzzled, he brought his hand to look over. It grew warmer the more he turned it towards outside. He moved his other hand who was quite growing warm as well. It didn’t hurt, he wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be this way. And then he realized, as he waved it in the air. It caught the direction of the metal man, growing warmer when he directed it to Cliff. 

_Hot or Cold. Great_. He said with an indignant sarcasm. He moved in closer, and he knew the negative man meant to do something with Cliff. It was growing obvious. But what could he do? He couldn’t hit nor startle the man awake, water would be counterproductive and he was starting to lack ideas. There weren't a lot of options for him to pick from. And also, why did he care? The host had always picked memories, past stuff to bring back to his face like a slap. Cliff and him had memories, but he couldn’t recall what the electric identity wanted out of the man. 

He took another step figuring the game wasn’t over because the bite of the fire only lingered. Tamed only to the reach of his hand, he touched the robot’s arm carefully. 

He didn’t quite remember he didn’t need to be so careful, Cliff wouldn’t feel it awake or like this. His mind grew accustomed to the cold embrace of the metal. The sight of the copper gave off the whiff of memories he didn’t want to deal with. It would pretty much make his warm hands stop, and Larry figured he’d put both hands since doing it with one had helped. He then felt the familiar warmth start at his forehead. 

_Wait, he’s unconscious. We can’t do that._ He said out loud. And thank god cliff hadn’t heard it. Or at least he hadn’t moved to show any signs he had. Because he wouldn’t know how to explain why he had said that outloud. 

So touching him was what the negative man wanted. And okay, he could run with that. But why? What was so important about touching metal? He wasn’t a healer, or that he knew of. And now his forehead was growing warmer as his hands did. He knew the principle by now, and he was confusing as ever. What could he touch with his forehead that wouldn’t be weird or a stretch? Why was he even indulging in this to begin with? 

What if Cliff could get awake at any minute? That simple idea made his heartbeat grow quicker. But he grew closer. 

_Fine. I’ll try, and if it doesn’t work. You’ll leave me alone._ He says to him, with a discouraged sigh. 

He lifted a leg up and slid it in the hook of the chair’s arm. He found the hardness of the robot’s leg under him as he slid the other. He brought his forehead to the position the negative man was seeming to scream him to do. Breaching the distance he ever had with Cliff, forehead to forehead. The burn lingered for a few seconds before going back to normal. Even with his bandages and glasses, he could feel the cold humidity that was stung to the man’s body. The bolt that was right in his forehead matched his. He closed his eyes and slumped his shoulders. Hands on the armrests, he felt far too self aware he was breaking what bubble the robot could ask for. He hoped for dear life Cliff would understand, or at least not talk about this if he could see it happening. 

_So, what now?_ He added with confusion and an awkward flair. 

Before he could know what’s happening. The host flew an arm from his pecs reaching the robot’s shallow chest. Going through the ironic t-shirt and metal like butter. 

When it reached what felt like light, Larry’s frame and mind collapsed onto what was left of Cliff. 

  
  


**Now**

<< _What the fuck is it then? Do you even know?_ Adds Cliff with an anger that’s fueled by his fears. Sure he handled himself well in the past, swinging back and forth when needed. But he sure knew his robot state made it way easier to make anyone back off. Not that it had did anything against Nobody, but it did a whole lot against the alligator. Now he had only what’s left of his pocket, and an uneven negative number on his tab at the bar. Things didn’t look too swell for other than the fact he was stuck in there with Larry, who seemed stuck in his old body as well. Oh that and he could feel his heartbeat skips a few one when he heard himself talk. 

It was one thing to get used to his usual voice converter, that now his _human_ throat itched.

He didn’t fight back the urge to add another drink to his tab as his old one was empty and looked rather sad with a shriveled napkin onto its side. 

Larry frowned but frankly, Cliff didn't give a damn. 

- _I know the guy, in here..He wanted this to happen._ He says cryptically as he pats his own chest with familiarity, it makes Cliff groan. Why things always weren’t clear in these adventures? He would probably go for bright big arrows pointing the red button to get out. 

But then it brought the thoughts again. Did he actually wanna go away? Now that he had what he wanted. 

_Was it what he wanted?_

He had been rubbing frantically the wooden edge with the pulp of his thumb for a while now. There was something about feelings, they didn’t mean crap if you couldn’t also feel things around you. Cameras didn’t give a lot for him to be aware of his depth perception. But he surely had got used to it enough for life as a human to feel weird again. There was so little yet so much to feel. He thanked god for alcohol to rub the edge off. That and him feeling the same dent in the wood, it made him distracted enough to look back at Larry annoyed. 

- _Yeah sure. That helps._ He adds darkly, letting in the weird familiarity of sounds in.

Larry frowns and tighten his jaw. 

- _I’m not the one who has the answers Clifford. I’m lost as well._ He says honest, almost daringly so as he sees the fear in the man’s frame. 

Cliff groans at the name call, but he doesn’t question nor use it. 

- _Well then, you don’t know why we’re the only one dragged into it then?_ _Fancy that yeah? Maybe that thing that put us here fancy our ugly mugs to manipulate us, or worse. Hadn’t thought of that huh Lar’?_ He starts ruminating, and also brainstorming before taking the new glass to his lips. 

_-Because it was only you who had a problem, and I touched you. And now we’re just both there. Were you here before I was?_ Asked the not-mummy, picking up on the brainstorming as well. 

Cliff perked up. 

- _What problem? I didn’t have a problem until you appeared. And what do you mean you touched me? Where? And how the fuck should I know, I didn’t have a clock when I waked up here taking a piss._ He monologued as he answered both Larry and Himself. 

_-So you weren’t here..But now that I touched you. We’re both here. And it doesn’t feel like the memories he usually does._ Larry’s arm linger on the counter, he looked around for any hint. _Sure he showed me my son before, but this is about you. Cliff, do you know where we are?_ He looked back at him with such a serious stare that Cliff snorted. 

_-Isn’t that what we are already trying to establish here? We don’t know!_ He says almost in a roar, but low enough not to startle more than a few blurry people around. 

_Larry sighed deeply. He could already feel tired and somewhat with many regrets._

>>

  
  
  
  


**_Also Now_ **

Jane had heard from Rita's meaningful conversation that Cliff was out of order for now. That Larry was on the case. And for as long that Niles was focusing on the wrong things. She didn’t have the strength to care. Sure she found the curiosity to walk down the stairs and go see for herself, but she figured she couldn’t do much to startle the bot more than had been done already. As much as she knew, Victor had probably hit harder Cliff than she ever would without the hammerhead of the others. And she didn’t have any better idea than to scream at him random or meaningful things. She had been coming down at night, before sleep. And if she had to admit it to herself, it was pretty therapeutic. And she figured that as long as Cliff’s body didn’t move, it would just hurt to think about what was happening to him. It was so strange to not have a breakfast slid at her door, or a heavy dry knock at her door once in a few days. And it was definitely _not_ why she had started to visit his corpse at night. 

But tonight was..Enlightening. 

She had walked as usual, figuring maybe tonight was the night. She wouldn’t admit to herself there was still hope, it hurt too much to think about right now. 

Granted, Cliff hadn’t moved a damn inch. But now Larry was on his lap, head on the leather vest’s shoulder pad. And what a sight it was. She took a picture before letting in the worry creep in. She ran back up the stairs with only one person in mind. Both scared out of her mind and amused at the unusual sight. **_What the fuck ?_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda like the way it goes back and forth. Thanks for the Kudos! ٩(^ᴗ^)۶


	4. -4-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry and Cliff banter, they just never shut up do they? ヽ(ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little chapter, bringing more to that scene. I'm just making it up mostly, with some hints written somewhere as to where I'm going with this. Anyhow, enjoy this mess I made!

**_Now_ **

<< _Well yeah sure the date._ **.** He snorted, as if he couldn’t fathom why Larry didn’t know this already. He was hinted by the clues and made it evident that he had to give it a few seconds to really think about it. _Seventies_ **,** _bet on late ones as well. Maybe even eighties but the bathroom tiles ain’t right. Circa 74 right? Best time ever._

And he figured, wouldn’t Larry know? Why did he bother asking about when this could be in? He was from the forties right? Housewife in the suburbs, funky aspics of many colors and the sweet sweet release of death at war. If Cliff was honest to himself, he barely remembered most of the almost forty years he had used up in the flesh. But he knew for sure he was a teen around that date, or at least the year they seem they are in. 

He met the dumbfounded stare of a tired man. 

_Was it not the time of your life? You probably were with your wife by then. Kids, the whole shebang._

The stare he got from Larry was hardly positive. _Oh oh_ , did he fucked up again? 

- _Hardly. It may be hard to keep up with, but I was being tortured in the seventies._ Breathed out the polite pilot. 

Cliff waved his head in a disappointed nudge, he groaned. 

- _Yeah. Drugged brain, Time’s fucked. Sorry._ He said in a half thought, knowing they wouldn’t get anywhere if he didn’t apologize on that one. Choosing your battles and all those praises. 

- _Drugged? You mean back then or now._ Asked the model as the stung washed away from his face. As to which Cliff pursed his lips in an attempt at winning time. 

- _Both? Chief had meth last night._ He brought a hand behind his own head in a shrug. Giving away a mild pout. Passing his fingers through the brown hairs. _Didn’t taste half as bad as it looked._ He joked with the same incertain stare.

Larry groans and shows a wave to the bartender who keeps changing genders. Talk about an opportunist. Not just his tab that is negative now, he didn’t expect the sparkling mojito he ended up getting. It does make him wonder, whomst memory is this? Because he could only recognize a few enough things to not be left high and dry. But that wasn’t so easy to guess. They seemed to make shit up as they went.

- _Oh right._ He sighs. _About that_ , _you’re telling me that you just..took meth. Because Niles offered you some? And then what? You went ahead? Weren’t you all against what Niles represented? In a cute teenager way?_ He says before taking what Cliff can guess is a wild sip of the alcohol. 

Cliff groans. And for the right reasons, he knows the mummy makes a point. He indeed took in what niles offered him. Even after all the fucked up past and mistakes already made. But he figures that ain’t fair. They all fuck up every few days, he doesn’t know why its such a big deal for him to indulge in one of a few treats he’s allowed.

- _Well, duh? Dring Dring..Addict on the phone,_ He emphasizes his tone by making the gesture of a phone with his fingers against his own face. His own eyes lazily lingers on the man’s frame as he makes his point, and perhaps starts to be aware of the fact that he can actually be seen avoiding eye contact now. _When someone asks you if you want meth, you know you’re already too far along to go back. Ever heard of the point of no return, Mojito man?_

Larry arch a brow at the quirk. Almost in such a surprised state. 

- _I didn’t take you for being gesticulate, I thought it was the robot thing. Bigger strokes and all of tha_ _t._ _Making your points_. He says carefully but also not, considering his state of wonder. 

Cliff realizes he’s been slouching his shoulders since the shrug and it starts to sting right in between his shoulders. Enough for him to tense his back straight up with a wild hand. Making a statement of giving the man a finger before taking the rest of his own drink to finish it. 

- _Fuck you, I’mma show you bigger strokes. Eh ah,_ he breathes in, oh yeah the darn whiskey in the old fashioned starts to kick in pretty quick by now. He’s more than aware his tolerance is way too low. He didn’t expect the man to startle a laugh from his pathetic attempt of an insult. It even makes him grin at how stupid he sounded. 

- _You know, I might not have been there then. But even I know it’s a pretty dangerous thing to say in the seventies._ Starts the obviously joking man, as to which cliff sigh with his eyes closed. 

_-Ain’t that fucking right. Mister fancy pants might just have found something we have in common more than being the sequel that always sucks._ He feels a cough bubbles up quite quickly. _Now, wanna fill me in about how you came to be?_

The quote seems to put the man in such a confused state, but he doesn’t let it get him longer. He comes up with something so quick that Cliff can’t even be mad. 

_-Well Clifford, when a mom likes a dad just right-_

He starts before Cliff finds a way to cut it short. 

_-Al-fucking-right, please do tell what’s up with this before I find out if your pilot training involves hand to hand combat. I don’t feel quite chatty enough to waste time asking again._ He says as he brings a hand to his own throat.

Okay he might be a little mad, if he were to brief it all. It seems like it’s the extraterrestrial in Larry's chest that brought them there. And he has no freakin’ reasons to do so, so it's even more of a doubtful story. He can’t quite tell if he hates it here or loves it. Sure it previously made him feel pretty fucking nice to be able to take a piss after decades of trying to remember how it felt. But now that it was more than an hour spent there, he can actually start to feel why he had hated some aspects of life so much. The way he holds himself is different and gives him more back ache than he’d desire. Alcohol doesn’t feel nice anymore, it just makes him sick to his stomach and delivers bad one liners. And god, he misses already the feeling of hitting someone in the face and knowing they’d feel it linger for a damn long time. He realizes with horror that he misses some aspects of his usual state. Breathing was nice when he didn’t forget to do it. He felt downright naked to be seen from Larry’s eyes, that every of his reactions was to be seen now. And fuck did it made him self conscious, so much that he has to take it all in without much of a fuss. 

He wouldn’t want anyone to get it wrong, it feels fucking great to be able to breathe, to be able to feel someone’s bad breath close to him. Hell, to simply be able to feel all his limbs and blood flowing through him. It felt way better than wearing a cheap stupid watch and mimick a heart beat with it’s subtles sounds. But it is all so much all at once. 

- _You went offline. Negative guy was...worried I guess? I’m going on a limb there and say he has made us somewhat of a nice haven for us to both coexist in the same space and not destroy each other._ Starts Lawrence with a delicate head nod, one that’s dumbfounded and lost. 

_-Don’t speak too quickly on that, we just never know. Time’s full of surprises_. He rumbles through the thick of his thoughts. They feel heavy and he downright knows what it feels to be actually physically depressed. He hadn’t missed that one. 

The hole’s there, back again, and it feels like a mess of his human and robot life. Feelings that if he were to simply choose, he’d disregard without a further doubt. 

- _Yeah..Cliff. I think there’s something he wants me to do. And it has to do with you._ He says with such a worried tone that Cliff can’t help but snort. 

- _You both can’t help me, I’m beyond help. Your.._ He turns his head from the way it was facing the counter, to the man he’s speaking to. He waves his index around at the man’s chest with gritted teeths. _Little friend here hasn’t figured that one out yet, but you did. You probably should break those news to him. I’m not to be reckoned with. Damaged goods._

It’s petty and he knows it damn well. But there was something resembling hope. Something very..hero, of the way Larry had laid the quest. And they both knew the doom patrol didn’t do hero, they never do get what they want, but merely what they deserve. He ain’t a damn mission.

_-Cliff, it doesn’t take your human face to tell me somethings been eating at you. And since we’re stuck here, you can either make it easy for us or-_

_-Hard, yeah I know. I’m the one who played that card before._ He groans as his forehead finds the counter back. Well fuck the excitement he had earlier. The Meth’s fucking wearing off and he can’t help but think the alien is making this to teach him a lesson.

He feels so goddamn angry, but now that he thinks about it further. He can actually get to enjoy this. From what it looks like, this is actually up to them what they do with the time they have. And god he can't help but think Larry has lived those...dreams memories things before. Maybe he can give it a try, maybe have sex with some cute chick. Well after he’s done feeling like his stomach got gutted. But he needs way more than alcool now, and Larry ain’t it. He can't do this on a empty stomach. 

_-Ever had patti’s hamburgers in brooklyn? I could go for that right now._ He says in a wince, one attempt Larry jumps at. 

_-Yeah, I actually can see you liking hamburgers. That somehow fits really well with your personality._

_-What’s that supposed to mean?_ He startles his head up too quick, his head stings and his vision is blurry. 

_-Well you’re american for one._ Says the model with no further thought, as to which he can’t stop himself to add. 

- _So are you._ He says, somewhat confused about why he’s irritated about the fact he fits a stereotype so well. Maybe the meth thing is getting too much at his head again. Everything just downright hurts. 

_-Granted but_ _I prefer hot dogs._ Adds Larry in a weak attempt of making the conversation quieter. 

_-Of fucking course you do._ He whispers to himself. >>

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of already proud that ten of you actually liked this enough to leave it a kudos. Bless your messed up souls. Bless this show and fandom as well. It'll need it.


	5. -5-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry figures it out. Or at least he thinks so. Cliff is busy hurting. What's this Nasty habit for English men to save the world?  
> Oh and Mister Nobody is lonely. 
> 
> ♡(ŐωŐ人)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter coming right up guys! What the fuck is happening down there?  
> (´･_･`)

**Somewhere, sometime.**

Things are as messy as always. Maybe it’s why Rita didn’t go downstairs yet. Maybe it’s why Victor didn’t spend a minute more in the mansion than needed. Following his heart and cock, along his stride for a warrior by his side. Daylight to bed sheets, he’s quite the busy cyborg. Jane’s lost and downright maniac, it doesn’t take long before baby doll is presented to Dorothy. As if they needed anymore children in this damn house. Ensues the playful laughs around the dusty and wooden hallways. Mr.Nobody finds them such a nice sight, for they make up for most of his awareness. If one would ask why he’s been so one dimensional lately..One could easily guess the empty of a canvas is sometimes lonelier than it lets on. There’s not much to do than to watch, as his reach is within the canvas’s frame. Mirroring the room to him. If he didn’t know better, it’s an endless loop. But with the knife by the chair, it’s very much more than a pretty torture.. _He’s pretty sure he’ll be just fine as always._

**_Back to Now_ **

<< _So you took the meth._ He said with a deep sigh _Cliff, why did you take the Meth? You know what those things do to you? And even with your brain its..Dangerous._ He says, not as convincing as he wants to be. 

- _Well duh. You sure do make a point Captain Obvious_. He groans back with a disinterested stare. If his eyes were lit up earlier, Larry can’t tell anymore. It’s like the sickness taking every inches off. Maybe Cliff's thing is catching up. This world wasn’t entirely known to keep him at bay from what happened to them back home. He knew they’d be relatively safe in the mansion. But one was to ponder. 

Cliff’s being obtuse about all of it. And Larry can’t even tell if it's voluntary. He’s dealt with his share of addicts in his past. From family members to soldiers, lovers. There was this hopelessness pouring out of them. And he could actually get that, he was one to pour one more glass of wine, or to get one more beer. But he knew alcohol wasn’t any answer to begin with. He found himself wondering, what alcohol meant to cliff, what the drugs replaced if not his void inside. From what he said, it’s a residual from his human life. And he picked up pretty quick considering there’s now too much shriveled napkins on the bar, against the same half full mojito he’s been sipping on for the sake of enjoying this moment. 

It did feel nice, feeling the people around, the livelihood of the place. How it roars in company, human contacts and empathy. It’s a pub, it's mere purpose is to bring somewhat of a confort. Even if manufactured, it does indeed work for him. 

- _But really Cliff, you get your old body back, shouldn’t be glad? It's temporary but.. It feels nice._ His voice wavers as he says the last sentence. He can’t help but think Cliff’s gonna chirp back. 

It does feel nice, he’s not lying, but it’s also haunting. It’s devastating. He can’t help but feel scared to get close to any skin he sees. The ghosts of undeserving souls lingering way too long on the back of his head. He doesn’t want to see them self-destruct from his presence. If he was being asked, he’d want just to be able to live without hurting anyone again. But he knows that’s barely in his grasp, it's not always in his control. And by looking at Cliff, he’s handling it in one of two ways. Like the fourth of july’s fucked up cousin. He finds the clock on the wall running backwards. Intrigued.

_-Fuck Larry_ . He breathes out with a rather honest tone, _You’re the only one that can understand a hint of what I’m feeling. Don’t you feel this fucking feeling, the one that’s terryfing? It feels like a lie. It feels ugly because it’s not true. I’m going to blink and your guy will bring us back and I’ll be back feeling sorry for myself. I’m just torn in two man. I don’t know what to think and everything’s so loud._

Oh right. He remembers that. It’s actually well described. But he realizes that it’s how he felt the first time the negative man had brought him into his memories. The way he lingered to go back, but felt stuck in the present. He had loved to feel lips against his, but knowing that they didn’t exist anymore made it all the more fake. It felt wrong, he still can feel his breathing change simply at the thought of his panic attack after that one time. He looks down at their drinks. More concentrated than ever. Cliff needs his help, and Larry knows that the negative guy doesn’t want him to do a therapy session. Because he would have tried way sooner. Or at least that’s his reasoning for now. 

He looked back to the loose strands of hair on Cliff's neck. The single strands that’s lighter than his honey brown. He can’t help but think about how much the man was missing out on. On what _they_ were missing out on. 

- _Cliff. I think you’re what this place runs on._ He replies thoughtful, almost analytic. 

Cliff frowns, face against his own arms, playing with the wooden edge with his free fingers. 

- _What are you talking about?_ He says in such a childlike voice. Larry pinch his lips in worry. 

He puts a hand on the counter, turning his shoulders and hips towards the side of the room. Almost searching for more clues. 

_-You know you haven’t been asking for your drinks right? You make the sign, but you never used words._ He says, the theory feels even more wacky as he’s saying it. _You run this place. That’s why I just got in after you._ It makes more sense as he unreveal the signs he'd be seeing but blind at. _You wanted to take a piss so you did. You drink alcohol because that’s probably what you do when you’re nervous, angry or scared. You don’t even have to say what kind. And now you probably feel like shit because you know you took meth. Whether you feel guilty for it or just think you’re going through withdrawals is up to you but. I’ve been physically hurt in the real world and not feel a damn thing when I was here before._ He almost talks to himself at this point even if he feels the man’s fire stare on him. 

He feels the sting of his bicep as he’s being hit there. He startles up, his back straightens up and looks at Cliff with surprise to be even touched.

_-You’ve been here before? Then why did we waste the last ten minutes talking about it you fucker?_ Barks out the man with somewhat of a bite. 

Larry rolls his eyes and pushes his back to the edge of his seat. Slightly irritated by the way Cliff chooses what he wants out of what he says.

 _-That’s not the point. Cliff. You can decide what you see. That’s probably why I only recognize a few things in here_ . He breaths in. _He’s evolving.._ He frowns at the words. Why now? 

Why not earlier, why for Cliff? What’s so damn important? What’s a self involved scarred robot got to do with radiation? 

- _Evolving?! That awfully sound right out of a horror movie_ . _It’s not an Apex Predator thing right?_ He answers back, with a tight jaw and googly eyes. 

He doesn’t know why, but his chest starts buzzing. And weirdly, Cliff’s chest starts glowing the color of his red shirt. He looks down to his own shirt and sees the hint of a glow as well. _Well fuck_.

_-I..Cliff-_ He starts to be cut quite quickly by a confused and terrified Clifford digging under his t-shirt to see what is wrong with his chest. 

- _Woa, wait. I take it back, I wanna keep it!_

Cliff claws Larry's shirt by the chest. Forgetting about anything else. It’s all a blur around them. He looks downright at him in terror. His clear blue eyes are so awake it makes for such a startling sight. He can already tell he’ll never forget what Cliff’s eyes look like. He’s so close, the buzzing keeps growing stronger, it’s too much. So much so that Larry can’t breathe _._ God no.

_Please don’t make it stop Larry, I’ll Be Goo-_ >>

Cliff’s terrified voice is the only thing he hears before feeling two strong hands on his shoulders. The touch is thick and if not for its strength, he didn’t feel it against his skin as he thought he would. He feels his heart sink at the disruption, it startles him awake in such a state that it feels like nasty joke. Like a cold water bucket dropped right onto his face and skin. He feels the tight embraces of his bandages, the light sting of his glasses and he just knows. He shivers and feels the floor under him. He pushes the hands away as his eyes are tightly closed shut. He can’t breathe. He needs to breathe. How does one breathe again? 

He puts a hand on his own stomach, making it move with a strangled noise. It moves but he doesn’t breathe. A new hand finds its way on his chest. 

<< _Focus on your heart Idiot. You’ll be fine_ **_._ ** Says the gravely melody of a familiar voice. It’s vaguely british and snobby. _Just breathe for god’s sake_. He opens his eyes and sees WIlloughby’s. The man’s coat and scarf confirms it further. As much as his annoyed face can grant him confort. He does try to focus on his heart. He breathes in as if he had been drowning. Counting in his head as his training jumps in. He starts to realize it's over. He looks to the right and sees Cliff’s robot body in the same state he found it. 

He slowly let his head back down on the floor as he felt his neck sting for the tenseness. He exhales slowly, looking back at Will. 

- _What are you doing here?_ He says in disbelief.

The man’s laugh is somewhat of a quiet grumble. 

- _Funny you ask. I was about to do the same._ He says before picking back up the glass that was lying somewhere. Larry didn’t care enough to find out where. Instead he looked at the roof, finding somewhat of a peace as he recollected what happened. 

_-I..I don’t know. We were._.- He starts softly, worried almost. 

The man cuts him off rather quickly and with little to no guilt on his face. 

- _Oh let me rectify that, when you say we, you mean you and the hotbox there? Because we can’t have you create parallel realities on a whim. Are you even conscient of what it could do? I think not._ He roars back to add in a sigh. 

_-A what?_ He says even more confused. He’s even more disappointed to find out Cliff hasn’t moved an inch since he last looked. Well fuck, they didnt manage to startle him awake either. All of this for nothing. He can’t help but feel sad for Cliff who seems still deep into his own abyss. 

- _You think you can run the show for a few hours? That’s what you’re doing with this. Creating something that shouldn’t exist. I can’t tell what you did yet, but don’t do it again. It has consequences. Big ones._ He emphasized the last words with his eyebrows. Larry’s pretty beat already so he gives up following. 

- _I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know what that was_ . He says, bringing himself on his elbows. _What did I do? You said Parallel realities? Isn't it Alternate realities?_

_-No you big goof. Parallel means they can’t touch, they have to remain aligned. You make space and time touch with those. What you ‘’didn’t mean to do’’.. That’s dangerous. I swear I’m surrounded with idiots lately._

- _But Cliff..And the negative guy wanted me to. Why would he want me to do something that’s bad?_ _He doesn't interfere that way usually._ He finds himself talking out loud. A nasty habit he finds himself regretting having when Will decide to answer him.

- _The thing gawking in your chest wanted you to do this?_ The magician asked intrigued. _Why do I even bother doing this, hm? If your little friend wants to wreak havoc why not let him wild?_ He says so seriously that Larry grasped at his own chest with intent. The way Kipling was making it sound, he’d be dead in a matter of second. 

- _I’ll leave it alone._ He says under his breath. _But do you even know what’s wrong with Cliff?_ _It’s been weeks now._

Kip just looks towards the robot without much enthusiasm. 

- _He’s probably having an update, self actualising. That’s what robots do. I have better things to do than care for him, Bigger fish to fry._ He says loosely with a wave of his hands.

_-He’s not that kind of robot. He’s still human inside. You just don’t care._ He bites back the words at the man’s rude attitude. 

He can still feel Cliff’s terrified stare, it almost finds his own soul and torments him as he realizes the man doesn’t want him to do this again. 

- _So should you, cupcake_. Said the asshole as he walked out. >>

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, what's this attempt at plot?


	6. -6-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Kipling and Larry to share a little talk. Pancakes and insults insues.
> 
> Larry realize that his family is more than unconventionnal, it's bigger than he previously assumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to 200 hits! At least now I reached my 10k of words!  
> Little victories are worth celebrating, now i'll get a few oreos in milk.  
> ٩(^ᴗ^)۶

**Now**

He genuinely tried. He really did. It took him a while to quit looking at Cliff's robot body. Alone in the deep quiet of the cave, sometimes disrupted by the water heater acting up or the furnace being filled up. It just didn’t act up, nothing made sense. It was an endless feeling of despair.

The alien, he was self preserving, he always made sure for both of them to remain alive. 

He never truly cared about others, it was all about his past mistakes. His guilt trips into the memories and sometimes a few lingering kisses of goodbye before the mission that ended up his last. 

He wished he could stop thinking about it. But there was something so honest about the moment they just shared. And from what Kipling had mentioned, it was real. As real as it gets for mind boggling nonsense. Who was he to proclaim himself more than a senseless mess? He didn’t know how to fix Cliff, and the negative guy surely knew that. 

He couldn’t really shake it off. The worry in his bones, each step of the stairs felt heavy with guilt. He felt as if he’d be the one closing the cage of Cliff’s self living hell. When Kip was the one putting an end to this experience. 

What if he had a few seconds? What if… He had to be honest with himself. He was in no shape to do anything more than lay in his bed and stare at the roof. At least for now.

Getting his gear off felt even longer than usual, every movement a lie. 

He caught his own stare in the mirror, the one he used to put a blanket over on his bad days. He didn’t even remember it being off. There was something in his own eyes that reminded him of Cliff’s. He wasn’t sure if he knew how to continue knowing Cliff was stuck there. Alone in the basement like forgotten pieces of scrap. 

Thing is, this was usual. This was like any of their missions. Yet he seemed to be the only one who actually cared. And it made him wonder, if the others would be as careless if it were him. If he was the one stuck there, alone and screaming for help. 

His throat went wired as he remembered Clifford’s tight white knuckles clawing at his dress shirt for help. It was truly desperate, and Cliff clearly didn’t know he wasn’t the one to ask that to. The negative guy had not even closed the discussion, it was kipling and his own set of rules. His own mindless chatter and gravely accent. This was all swell wasn’t it? Thing is, he had a choice to make. Would he try to go on as if he didn’t know his friend suffered in the basement? Or will he try to find a loophole and at least  _ try _ to help Cliff? He’s pretty sure he already got his answer deep in there. And for once it's the human part of him that wants to do it. Thing is, he doesn’t know where to start. 

He just knows that Niles old Self Help books will at least be a good read to even just hint at helping the robot. Not that he’d blatantly use any of these per verbatim to Cliff. He already knew where that’d get him. And the idea of being flipped off with an actual middle finger again sounded way better than he thought it would. He kind of felt his heart sting for a second, in between the guilt and the self hatred. 

Maybe...Maybe it felt actually nice to look forward to seeing Clifford again. 

And perhaps, with a plan and a few nudges, he’d get the man to come back to earth. 

He wouldn’t blame him not to, he definitely knew what it meant to go back to this. 

He already was missing the soft hint of his skin. One that didn’t hurt to linger a little longer with his fingers. He missed Clifford’s funky mullet and his own wedding ring back on his right hand. 

Yeah, maybe that could work. And if not, they can still both enjoy the sun in their old selves. Negative guy owed him that much. Right? 

  
  


**Later on**

<< _What’s the dangerous part?_ He asked right then and there. Maybe it would have helped to spare the man a warning. He had indeed decided to make it his mission to annoy him until he had all his answers. 

The grunt that answered him was guttural, it felt like an animal. But Larry didn’t let that discourage him. Instead he slid a wonderful plate of pancakes on the stand by the sofa. 

He could almost see the smell of his cuisine get to the man’s nose. Enough for him to sniff rather loudly. It was television worthy, the simple quiver of his inner lip. It was only a distant memory to hear the man snore. The sound was long gone as he was growing awake by the second. 

_-What do you want, Trainor?_ Groaned the edgy voice of the sorcerer, both annoyed and showing a slight curiosity that pleased Larry.

He hummed once, putting the fork in the thick of it, letting much of the syrup flow. He was rather in a good mood, he wasn’t quite sure if it was because he had now a mission. A goal to look forward to and a friend to help. But it did make him feel good enough to put on his gear and go get the best grade maple syrup he could. 

He had enough experience with drunks and hangovers to know this meal would appeal to the kind of drunk Kipling was. Which is loud and nosey, until alone where he would simply fall asleep from boredom. Rita’s pastries weren’t disappearing from the fridge at the same time the mage was there by coincidence. And Larry intended well enough to use it at his advantage. He had enough to go on for now. And he’d probably go to Plan B if Kipling was growing difficult.

- _ I want details. Intel. If you can manage that. _ He said slightly arrogantly towards the empty bottle that was by the couch’s feets. He actually wondered if that’s what Kip had meant by bigger fish to fry.  _ This is yours. But you know what? I heard a baby doll like hers drowned in Maple syrup. Shall I discover if she wants the last ones?  _

He was in fact, bluffing. But the drunk didn’t need to know that. Seeing the meal was tempting as it is. He found a rather simplicity about the exchange. As the man cracked and wrinkled himself up. It was a slow stare and it seemed only interested in food and coffee. It made Larry wonder if he had seen Will make himself any food in here. He’d steal leftovers, things that with some eye, weren’t nearly enough for an entire meal. But he hadn’t seen the man cook. And even less in the mansion. He had seen him drink plenty. Did he even know how to cook the basics? He had no idea. 

Larry didn’t find himself entirely clueless at the kitchen when he had arrived here. But doing some tasks with Rita had indeed made it all come back to him. Like riding a bicycle or playing baseball. And the simplistic exchanges of orders, as it were from his ex-wife or Rita, was delightful because it put his mind at ease. The hint of a buzz trough the radio as the old songs goes. It was putting his mind on pause, now or then. Goal oriented and ready to aim and frisk. He was glad to simply be able to measure things, mix, cut. Anything that needed a spare set of hands. It was a quiet peaceful hobby, one he wished he could have shared with every member of their self-made family. But Victor had less than good habits, the only thing he’d make for himself was cheese cream on bagels and some few meats that only needed tending. He wouldn’t count the microwave as cooking, because then, Victor was a chef. Jane would make those nasty sandwiches made of everything she could find. And honestly, Larry had made himself one in his room to see what the hype was about. It was..an understatement to say the flavors all clashed with each other. In such a way that he wondered if all the alters would find what they preferred from each flavors chosen. 

Rita would bake fairly often, if left unattended, her pie would miraculously become empty. Her bread was the most crips and moist. He would never fail to feel his mouth waters at the smells that would soak up the halls. 

It was such a thing, when she had tried to teach Cliff to bake. The robot would have found anything to criticise, any swears that left the kitchen was granted to be his. The man didn’t own much more skills than the average meals from his past life. But Larry had made sure to avoid the hall leading to the kitchen the days he had decided to bake a cake for each year he missed with his daughter. Because the aftermath of choosing to do so many recipes at the same time had left their clothes smelling burnt for at least a week. 

It was.. a strange realisation, that Kipling was starting to show up more often on their doorstep. He wasn’t quite sure if it was for Niles, doing whatever he did at his quarters, needing help. Or if it was out of convenience, that there was always a couch left unattended in the mansion for him to crash on. Granted there were a lot of empty rooms for him to choose. Yet the philosopher and potty mouth always choose the living room the closer to the main entrance. If Larry could take a guess blindly, he figured the man felt safer knowing he could run outside at any time. Old habits die hard. 

He found himself daydreaming as the man had answered. It took for the man to repeat for him to remind himself he was dealing with something important. 

- _ This girl doesn’t know what ratio is, drowning it in doesn’t make it better. It only makes you chew the equivalent of sugar in liquid form. It needs to be perfectly balanced at each bite. Now give me this before I make you regret coming in here. _ He took the plate straight out of his hand. Using the sidearm to maintain the plate even. His words went through him as if it was godspell.

The ulterior pilot finds himself staring at the man’s vest and scarf. His stare grew long and thoughtful.

  
  


- _ I could wash it if you want. It’d probably smell better than in this state.  _ He blankly says in a soft voice. Hinting at it. 

_ -Don’t you dare insult me before noon _ . He shrugged off the inconfort as he chewed the meal.  _ What kind of intel?  _ He looked at him carefully, so much that Larry almost felt like a nutcase to go on. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t dealt with crazy talk before, he would practically deal with it weekly, if not daily. But seeing the man being so serious yet childish made it very unsettling to even begin with his questions. But he was on limited time. So he started rather quickly. 

- _ It’s two o’clock. _ He shrugged it off.  _ You said that what I did with Cliff was dangerous. Something about parallel realities.  _ He starts with a side-eye to Kipling. 

- _ It is.. Is that it, smart guy? Because that’s a fucking useless question. _ He says as he barks a chuckle. He rumbles some words as he pushes another piece of pancake in his mouth. Blinded by the amusing idea that Larry was gonna keep it so simple. 

He straightened his back as he sat on the edge of the chair. Ass on the side arm, he looked past them, at the wall. 

_ -How can I prevent it from being dangerous? Is there anyway I can just do it and make it foolproof? Cliff really needs my help. I already know your take on my mental abilities so spare me on that.  _ He says with such intent that Kipling sighs. 

He shakes his head as if he couldn’t believe it. 

- _ You know, you guys don’t know when to let go. Bunch of kicked puppies is what you are.  _ He groans to himself, avoiding the stare on him. As if he was counting the pros and cons inside. 

Larry chuckled. 

- _ That’s putting it lightly. _ He added with tenderness. But he saw the signs of giving up on the man, it made his chest swell in pride. 

  
  


- _ The big thing is that your little friend is writing his own narrative.  _ He stretches his neck with a sigh. Using a voice as if Larry was the most obtuse of children.  _ And when that narrative exists, nothing else does until you come back. Your life doesn’t exist. Sure we talk and walk, but most people get some hint of déjà-vu and everything seems to be fine. But unless you want everyone to forget about you and everything you did for the world. You should leave that for the adults. The more you tug at reality's door and then boom. Your mom was a horse, your wife a panda and you’re a donkey. If your entity decides to rewrite the narrative, we’re fucked. This is Mr.Nobody lane and god we don’t need another chapter of that _ . He monologues to himself, the pancake growing colder by the second. 

Larry nods, somewhat agreeing. It does make somewhat of sense, or at least more than an actual Sex patrol.

- _ And what could prevent that from happening? Me keeping track of him? Should I put some sort of timer as I go? I don’t think I’d need more than a few hours at a time. I could spare a week of daily visits at most.  _

He knows this is taking a chance, making a deliberate timeline on Cliff's mind and needs was risky and bad. But there’s no way Kipling is gonna let him do this on whim and with no deadline. 

- _ Why do you care so much?  _ Asks the sorcerer with a strange hint in his stare.  _ You could ask me for a spell to make you appear normal, make a deal. And yet you just want to tell me about your little hot wheels parked in the basement.  _

Larry blinks a few times as he hears the words.

- _ You could do that? How does that even work?  _ His mouth manages to let out at the surprise.

Kipling grunts and send him a wave of dismiss. 

- _ Appear, for others, not yourself. _ He bit back, realising this was not the best of ideas to even ask to begin with.  _ Nothing worthwhile. Just a possibility.  _

Larry breathed out. Vaguely more at ease knowing the man hadn’t offered because it was mostly pointless. And illusion can only go so far. But for a second he hadn’t been able to breathe at the idea of Kipling at the whim to make him normal again. The weird spark plug of a thought that went straight to his heart to sink it. He needed to let this go. This wasn’t about that. He needed to get back to the main subject. He breathed and felt his knee shiver under his hand. 

- _ I know what it feels like to be left forgotten in the depth of my mind.  _ He says, biting back the foul odor of the past. The screams and the endless tears, almost thankful for his glasses to hide his watered down eyes. _ He doesn’t deserve that again. None of us does.  _

Kipling lifted his chin up from the pancakes at the last sentence. Somewhat startled awake by the current subject and sincerity. 

- _ Yeah yeah, Cry me a river. _ He says somewhat too slow for his usual wit. _ So you want me to put a timer on you and separate you from mister roboto there? That’ll cost you. That..can work. I just didn’t want you to go in and never get out. You have other things to save before dying. Timeline and whatnots. The world needs you more than it needs the tin can in the future. _ He says it all too seriously for Larry not to actually feel excitement grow in his gut about the deal he’s about to make. 

The revelation about the future is little to him. Or at least he pretends it is, because if not it means that all the time he’d wonder about killing himself mattered. And he wasn’t quite ready to think about that just yet. Instead he focused on the slight charming smile Clifford wore when he first saw him by the bar. One that looked good on him. 

Larry bit back the bullet as he looked at kipling. 

- _What do you want?_ He says with a hint of hope, a sigh of despair and a silver lining making itself known in his heart. >>

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info dump chapter with some fluff. I made it all in two short sessions, kind of light that I like to write about. Thank god I decided to start this story. I love it and them characters. I love how I can grow out of my usual confort zone. Which usually consisted of Marvel. It's always nice to know you still got it!


	7. -7-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, angst, angst. Cliff is somewhat confused as what qualifies as rape nowdays. When it comes to accepting sex for himself, obviously. Larry find himself relating to Cliff way more than he'd like to admit on a common mistake. Jane's pretty lonely and she won't let anyone know just yet. Hammerhead lets herself be amused.
> 
> Can soemone make sense out of this mess? Because I can't..yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warning : Extreme dubious consent, old fashioned ways. It's mostly cliff with himself debatting about the memory of a blowjob. Overstimulated and somewhat find a way to enjoy himself without freaking out too much. Nevertheless, not of your cup of tea? No problem. Don't read his part and skip to the ''A Few Minutes Later'' scene. It's Larry's pov so you'll know you're good. )

**Now**

He could almost still feel the tense wire of his finger joints clawing at Larry. He can actually chew the aftertaste of a sour mouth after a copious amount of alcohol. The intense coating and the rasp of his throat makes him think he just came out of an intense nap session. The light is dimmed where he is right now and thank fuck for that. He’s not hangover, but he’s a few glasses away from it. He feels the irregular waves of his lungs grasping at the concept to breathe, _oh fuck his lungs!_ He can sense the heat, the one that he almost recognizes way too well. His heartbeat is leaving his body warm. He’s kind of lightheaded, as if it didn’t tipped him off as to where he was already. He can almost grasp the light of a window layering softly on the wall. He feels the cold cement dig into his shoulders. There’s movement around his jeans and he blinks a lot as he realizes he already lived this. _What is it already he..he.._

If he could actually concentrate, _and there’s no lack of trying._ He’d probably be able to tell the year simply by the roar of engines and the color of the flag he sees hitting the wind by the window. It’s jostling pretty heavily and he can tell it has a distinct color, but it’s like he’s two year old and he can’t think for shit. It almost makes him groan out of frustration. The amount of encouragement doubled by swears in his inner mind voice doesn’t shake that feeling that he’s actually colorblind. Or something that keeps him from being able to identify that fucking teasing tint of color, the piece of shi-.But as he makes those connections, a new one is literally making its way onto the head of his cock. And for a few seconds, it actually startles him, his mind goes haywire. The way the moist tongue hits the dry skin. The actual inch of it making its way on his shaft. He can almost hyperventilate because--

<< _Holy Cow You’re Actually Sucking My Cock Right Now._ He says in an inhale, almost a gasp away from passing out. The nervous laugh he lets out makes him feel out his goddamn mind. >>

He had felt the rough of his denim suit being opened, the way the air would hit his stomach. He hadn’t given it further thought. And holy fuck, he’s young enough he can actually see most of his cock yet! The beer belly isn’t there yet and somehow that doesn’t make a difference. As it’s being carefully brought deeper in the hellscape that is this throat. He fucking skips a beat as he realizes he’s nowhere near the end of this memory. Actually if he can remember one thing, is that the kinky fucker he found on the back of the rally had graciously given her time to make him beg for it. And it’s not that he hates blowjobs, he actually enjoys them occasionally. Even if they never beat his own death grip on his cock. Hah, the thought makes him quite surprised that none of the ones he ever got before being stuck in metal got near enough for him to be able to feel his knees buckle. But oh god now, it’s actually enough for him to wonder if he’ll become blind after this. It feels way too much at one specific place, too quickly. He can’t process what’s happening on his cock fully that her lips caught the side of his balls. He lets out a whine as he contracts the muscles of his thighs. Her fancy nails dig into the side of his racing suit and it almost makes it to the skin. He tries to keep his own breathing on a pace. He’s going mad at the way it tickles his skin so fucking much. He can’t fucking laugh because it almost hurts in such a way that he knows he enjoys. He has no idea what the orgasm will look like if this stimulation goes to plan. He doesn’t dare to look down again, instead he focuses on the poster he finds on the other side of the room. And he’d actually appreciate the irony in any other scenario but it’s _his own fucking poster._ It's this what hells looks like? He doesn’t need his old human face to look at him coming in a stranger’s throat. He’d be lying to say he doesn't actually start to like the blowjob. Now that it’s getting slower, he breathes out. His mind slowly takes every inch the tongue lets out. Making up of his landscape, he realises what Larry told him. And the thought of Larry shouldn’t be normal to think about when he’s being sucked the living out of by a faceless woman in a black polka dot dress.

He tries to focus again, what did he say already? Something about this being his ? 

He recognizes the memory but he’s pretty sure if he asks the woman to leave she won’t. It’s just playback. He can deal with playback, no big fucking deal. He’s just really fucking aware of it, stuck in that loop. He doesn't give her the power by asking, because then that’d be probably rape right? And he’s kind of not into the idea of rape. _Power play? Sure buckaroo, whatever floats your boat._ But Steeles doesn’t get raped, they like sex, so much so it’s an actual problem. It’s almost legacy at this point, a weird tangy heirloom passed onto fuck-ups. If anything he’d be the one doing the rape right? He’s not into that, but he doesn’t think he’s actually sure he wants this to be happening right now. It actually feels pretty great and as she’s using most of her wrist in the semi-hand job right now he’s kind of fine about this. It’s a casual rub-n tug. Heck, he chose to do this many years ago, scratch that, decades ago, _almost a freaking century ago._ Okay he really needs to focus. Yeah. It ain’t that bad, and he’s pretty sure it means he consented at some point to this happening. So yeah, he decides to let go of the tenseness in his shoulders. Making up a story because he’s not quite sure he remembers what pick-up line got that woman to do this. Not that he’d need pick up lines, he was quite the seducer alright. And not to mention famous. He could fend for himself. He closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the wall. The lips around the edge of his head are kind of nice. Teasing him a bit, but he can handle that can’t he? 

He lets out a nervous chuckle. _It’s his actual body he’s feeling right now_ . He feels so fucking far of the tin can he usually is. Fuck whoever in Jane’s head decided he’s not a man! His dick in someone's throat happens to prove that fact is very much wrong and it is an exhilarating thought to realise. His fucking cock is leaking and he’s pretty much fine by himself. Hah! He can enjoy this, he realises he can put his hand on her. He can even roll her pretty brown ponytail around his fist. He does it out of body memory mostly, almost like a pre-written book. He _so_ knows what’s about to go down and his brain lights up like the fourth of july figuring that out. The urge keeps nagging at him and he knows he needs it. There’s no way he’ll ever get another occasion like this again. Fuck it, if it wakes him up. He deserves to finish this thought. After all the sea of feelings he just had to face. He uses the thick of the strand holding her hair and pushes down. Then up, its a fucking manoeuver but he feels her body reacting to it eagerly and with as much enthusiasm as him. He has no idea if she’s excited to get her throat rammed down but he’s pretty fucking sure he’s done this before and she hadn’t given a damn complaint. He starts doing so with less shame than his previous self. He just knows its the kind of opportunity that ain’t a jehovah's witness, it does not keep hitting the door until you’re ready. He needs to take it as it’s there. 

He’s pretty sure he’s gonna come. Yeah, he’s gonna come. He feels his voice stammers into the noises of wetness. He can feel her throat and body fight the feeling of gagging. It’s almost hot as he feels it around him. The vibration makes him come way too much for him to think about being ashamed. He comes thick strokes onto the lap of her tongue and she genuinely smiles at him. She now has a face, he doesn’t know if it’s because he really liked her stare as she licked her lips. But it drives him wild to see it again in the thick haze of his mind. He can see her dark brown eyes and pink swollen lips. He feels his dick throb and pulsate away. Almost disappointed that it’s already over, but the wave of satisfying pleasure just keeps him scheduled for a few more minutes of quiet adoration. He watches the shapes of her dimples, he’s aware she isn’t moving anymore. Because he has no idea what happened next. He probably won the race, but he just wanted to enjoy the way she looked at him. They’re just...there. Alone and quiet in the shitty bunker by the race. Nobody goes there and it’s absolutely why he choose to go there. He remembers himself being excited at the idea to watch the race go and also get the soul sucked out of him. He just hadn’t expected the blowjob to be so thorough. 

He didn’t even get to realize there was a race going on as he got the blowjob. The silence gets pretty quick and now his cock feels pretty damn cold and moist against the air. It’s shriveled up against the tender denim. He shoves it quickly and zip up his suit. She’s still there, eagerly looking at him like he’s the most sexiest thing she has ever seen. He realises he can’t even tell if it’s fake. Ain’t this really sad out of the sudden? And he knows pretty damn well those pornstars he found himself watching on the computer were as fake as they come. But this genuine quick human interaction? No single idea. Maybe she just wanted to be the one in her town to say she did it. She got to blow off that Nascar driver most people are gossiping about. He’s just downright puzzled. He lets his lungs reacclimate to the normal pace of a human being. He isn’t sure he knows what that is anymore.

What the fuck is his life? 

  
  
  


**A Few Minutes Later.**

  
  


Larry’s pretty lost. He knew he followed just enough of Niles’s brief for when Cliff first came in the mansion to make sense of this new scenery. That and Cliff’s copious amount of comments and whines about his old life. He’s kind of making a map of what he’s learning by each minute going by. But the thing that is confusing him the most..Is that his friend is nowhere to be found. He’s genuinely not in his line of sight. He’s just somewhere sat on the metal platform, in the middle of a mixed crowd. Seeing the race as it goes, hell he even tried to see if Cliff was driving one of them. He tried talking to someone around, but it’s kind of scary how people are just stuck in their loop of cheering. He’s been watching that kid drop his pop-corn on the floor on repeat way too many times to be called sane. He’s enjoying the sun and atmosphere, being there without someone looking at him like an abomination. It’s actually weird how the cars seem to be the only thing not stuck in the loop. He reaches the end of it and sees the winner isn’t Cliff. He’s almost disappointed to see another bald man getting out of the Yellow sponsored car from afar. Thing is, he knows his time is limited. He’s bargained for an hour today, figuring he’d need Kipling to trust he can do it without fucking up the timeline. He doesn’t get how watching cars and having a man-to-man talk with Clifford is messing up the world but he doesn’t question it further. He almost didn’t even get an hour to begin with, it’s a bargain that he’s allowed that much. He genuinely tried to match up his analog watch to time sixty minutes. But that doesn’t get him far because he’s pretty sure time in reality and in this doesn’t feel nor is the same amount. But it does make him know he’s been waiting for what seems to be twenty minutes before he catches the sight of a dirty brown mullet. 

Lawrence feels his breath stops as he crosses Cliff’s stare. They both realise the other is within the world and it doesn't take long before Clifford figures out the makeshift stairs mockup to join him on his almost empty bench. They get really quiet, Larry because now the world seems to be working properly. _Or at least as much normally as they can get in such a set-up. He can see people sharing laughs and actual conversations now._ He could have done with that earlier, it would have made time feel less long at least. 

He finds himself to be actually excited to talk with Cliff. And this time he’s hellbent on not making the man dwell or fall upon himself and his many, many regrets in life. They need to make the best out of his time with him. Since it’s awfully limited.

<< _I don’t know why, but in this memory, it’s my wife you’re playing._ _She was waiting for me on the platform before my show._ Drops the almost gloom voice of Cliff, and Larry can’t tell what’s sad about that. Had Cliff preferred to see his wife? He wasn’t the one making the rules, and he’s pretty sure Clifford’s brain wouldn’t let him in if no part of him wanted him there. But he doesn’t really have time for this. 

- _When are we? Do you know why your brain has chosen this moment instead of another?_ He asks, visibly kind of eager to figure out the puzzles of the man’s mind. He knows to be respectful, and he wants to really help. Or at least help enough for Cliff to afford coming back home. But it does seem a hard, long road ahead.

Cliff huffed, kind of a half-snort that he doesn’t shy away from doing. Larry realizes he actually has no idea of who Clifford Steele is, he know who is Cliff. It’s one of his fucked up family members, he’s kind of a goof with over enthusiastic sarcasm. But he’s not used on reading the man’s features for answers. Only his voice and body, now that there’s so much input. He doesn’t know where to look first. He just knows that Clifford is in his mid-twenties, maybe the edge of becoming thirty. 

_-I think I wanted to felt loved and appreciated. But seeing you, or..Huh. Her just waiting for me kind of screwed that up. I got no one to blame but myself for this._ He croaks out the word in such a self pitying tone, frankly sad. 

Larry sighs. He doesn’t even know where to start. Can he even bring up the fact that Clifford is in their basement for more than two weeks now? And that he’s the only one that is attempting at helping him out? Thing is, he knows the latter is to be told the later the better. Or never, if he can afford that. But what about his awareness scale? Is Clifford aware he’s in some kind of dream memory? He figured as much for the memory part, but does he know why he started to be in here to begin with? 

_-Hey, you’re not so bad. Look at you, you’re really dapper._ He bubbles up the words in the only way he knows how to lift someone up. What did the self help books said already? They don’t really cover up daddy issues and the trauma of being dead and also alive in the same moment. It’s kind of surreal to even think he has a chance to conquer any of Cliff’s demons. To tame one just enough to be able to go back to the mansion and their usual selves. _I never really went to races much, we made our own at the base sometimes with rovers or else… So your wife was really supportive of you hm?_

Cliff puts his elbows on each knees, looking at the race starting with more of a busy mindset than anything else. 

- _Yeah she was_ . He says, visibly really fond of the memory of her. The crease on the side of his eyes deepen as he shares a haunted smile. _I think tonight was close to being one of the nights where we managed to conceive Clara._ The words sting his friend because he can see that he’s not sure if he should say them. His voice is quieter, but the crowd feels like ambient noise by this point. 

- _Then what did you do to screw that up? You’re there._ He says without much of a thought. He’s kind of improvising right now and he has no way to tell if it’s working. 

  
  


Clifford seems hurt by that, and Larry has no genuine way to know how that is. 

Instead he lets the other man bubble up the courage to let out his tamed roar. 

- _I just got blown off. I’m just that kind of asshole, my wife’s nice attention to go see me at my job, support me and..And..I just downright stab her in the back. And it’s not a few years before she discovers that this happened. I have no idea how I kept that in so long Larry._ He says vigorously, if both cliff’s hands weren't so tightly on his knees. He’d probably be hitting his own head by now. Larry just feels the depth of those words. 

He actually knows somewhat how Cliff feels like right now. Sure this time it isn’t the same. Hell, he’s maybe the worst in this scenario because his kids were alive when he started to do it again on his own accord. He feels his throat get real dry and he just lets out a breath. 

- _The alcohol helped with that._ He simply says, his stares now meet the racing cars. Realising why Cliff’s so gloom. The guilt settles in real quick. But as he realizes what Steel said, he just can’t not think about that. Did negative man give Cliff a blowjob? The thought is ridiculous and it absolutely horrifies him. Because as far as he knows, Cliff’s straight and wouldn’t like to be told about this neat trick. And also, he’s pretty sure everything he’s touching and seeing is fake. And he is sure as hell he didn’t give the man what he had just been offered. That either made him an accomplice wingman or-- He tries not to think about it when Cliff’s reaction lifts up. 

- _You. Mister perfect dialect, turtleneck and shiny boots. You’re a cheater_ . Lets out the nascar driver in disbelief. _How does that even work? You look like you’re walking your way out of a housewife’s magazine. I bet your wife was really into you enough for you not to look any inch elsewhere._ Larry knows it’s better if Cliff is running his mouth off on his own. But it doesn’t hurt any less to share this and see the man gloat. 

- _Oh she was. I wasn’t._ He says in a neat sigh. He doesn’t have time to be disappointed in himself. That he can do anytime of the week, no in their time. _I’m gay remember?_

_Cliff groans and claps his knee with a dark chuckle._

_-Yeah right! But I figured you divorced and broke the little neat family in piles. And that’d be why you often talk about them with that tortured voice._ He lets out, kind of talking without thinking and Larry realises that Cliff is now comfortable and not as gloomy. 

He shrugs. 

- _I was too much of a coward for that. So, welcome to the team Cliff. Is that why you think you screwed up? Because I think having regrets means you grew enough to realise it was a bad thing to do._ He knows this one comes straight out of the books and he can tell clifford got enough of it the second he heard it. 

_-What the fuck Larry? I knew this was bad the second I felt my dick in her mouth. I knew this was bad and I kept at it. Again and again. And I figured, sure I could drink less but keep doing it. But the guilt Larry, the guilt was thirsty._ He says kind of desperately as he meets his stare. And the pilot can actually see that no matter the age, no matter the amount of muscles in his face, Clifford's broken voice can still make him feel way too much at once.

- _I know, I know I just-_ He sighs once again, feeling like he’s screwing up again,- _I was trying to help. Regrets are just things stuck there, they make us feel shitty and miserable. They hold power over us and maybe..maybe we deserve it. It’s just that..I wish we could repent for that, because it just makes our life as pointless as we think we deserve it to be._

And it’s with those words, that he actually feels the negative man’s wave in him ripple. It feels pleasant and damp. But he’s not sure what it means. 

_-I’m not religious anymore so there’s that._ Jokes the blue eyed man with a huff _. So much for repenting ourselves._ _We’re just going to hell, or maybe we’re already there. I reckon God died with my faith._ He says with little to no shame, it straight up comes out like fact. 

Larry pinch his lips and look at the logo on Cliff’s chest in an attempt of finding the words he’s searching for. But he’s aware sponsors brand deals won’t tell him what he craves.

- _Why should we feel like shit if it doesn’t bring them back? If it doesn't change anything for anyone than us?_ >> And it feels kind of great as he says it.

He feels like he’s onto something. He’s not allowed to think about that usually, because pain is pain. And of course he deserves it, accordingly. But because Cliff is feeling the same, it just seems like he has to get a solution to get him out of the gutter. He just didn’t expect to relate so much. 

Cliff lifts his head up and looks at him puzzled. Larry feels like he hit a sore spot. He feels puzzled too now actually. _Well fuck._

  
  


**Now as well.**

  
  


Jane lets her heavy dirty boots down to the basement with a hidden hesitation. She’s surprised to see someone else is asleep with Larry and Cliff. He’s even snoring whereas the other two are just comatose and silent masses of weight. She comes closer to the scene and sees that it’s kipling. She huffs out and arch her eyebrows at the sight of him so vulnerable and less of an asshole. He almost looks peaceful there, but she doesn’t allow herself to go down that path of thoughts because that’s not what would kay want. And thinking a man looked peaceful was never what Kay wanted. That’s for sure. She felt Hammerhead stimmer the end of her skull. It just didn’t feel the nicest, but she was getting along with that disappointed feeling the bald woman kept sending her. She looked down at the man, considering the idea of letting him a bad thing to remember. He had never been nice to them, only to Niles. And they kind of hated Niles right now. So it felt just right. So she took out a deep black marker out of pocket and started to let her creativity flow on the man’s face. He seemed so out of it that she managed to write what she wanted without being interrupted. It’s as she is close to finishing the big gaping Asshole on the man’s forehead that she realises he has a cooking timer loosely held by his hand and thigh. She grins as she pushes the five minutes left to the maximum amount allowed. She grins and hammerhead seems to somewhat cheer in her disappointment. Feeling satisfied. She goes to Cliff and whispers something in what would be his ear if he wasn’t made of copper. 

Her heavy boots hit the stairs as she quickly goes away as fast as she had arrived. 

_Letting it all play out to see what happens, it’s not as if she knew what to do more with their corpses for now. But she’s creative, she’ll figure out something by the time that timer runs out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is an angst and kind of dubious story, with death and many many big subjects brushed over. I easily assumed that the ones reading a doom patrol fanfiction expects for things to be fucked up. But hey, Just in case I added the trigger warning to be sure. I really intent for this fanfiction to go on for a little while and it will need to go deal with a lot of the boys's ghosts and demons. Which mean that dubious consent, suicidal tendencies, distorted cognitive toughts and behavior and somewhat many many other bad tags in there. Heavy cocktail, but I intend this fanfiction to be half a fix-it, half a they lived on feeling a little bit more in control of themselves. Kind of a way to give them somewhat of an edge to walk and get to run on their own pace on one day. Gotta give em a chance right? Also thank you for the comments, makes me feel all nice and warm inside (✿╹◡╹).


	8. -8-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //Fluff before angst.//   
> Larry realizes what it's like to see this version of Cliff. He wishes to stay there forever. But Happiness doesn't last. Not for the Doom Patrol. Not for them. Everything has a cost.
> 
> Whilst, Rita realizes what it means to be an Aunt. Whatever that means.
> 
> ''Hurt people, hurt people.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good luck. Not that you'll need it or something. ( ͡o ͜ʖ ͡o)

**Now**

Cliff looked at him, googling eyes endlessly staring. 

<< _ Cut the Crap Mummy-Man. _ Startles back a semi hesitant yet painful bark. _ If it's so damn easy, wouldn’t you have gone that way by yourself already?  _

Larry expires deeply. Somewhat interested in the depth of that question, considering wanting to run as far as he could from it. Wouldn’t that be highly hypocrite of him to just drop this and stay this old pitying fuck he’s been all his life? If he figured, saving the world was the adrenaline rush that kept him alive. That kept him from dwelling far too much on what he is missing. Either that’d be from rockets or mind-boggling nonsense. It still mattered, somewhere. He actually would like to assume Cliff uses their adventures as an escape as much as he is. But there’s this one wonder that makes him itch. 

Cliff’s right. It’s ain't easy. He knows damn well he’s at fault for all his sins, he can’t repent. That’s for damn sure. Is there actually something he can use to feel less like a piece of shit? There’s the hope that there is. That he’s not downright useless. That...He means something, to someone. Himself perhaps. 

Larry can’t give it further thoughts, because Cliff eyed him like a dog. Somehow proving his point in a thick silence. 

_ -Exactly! Fuck you. _ Says the  _ (ex?) _ -robot with a vain satisfaction that only lingers for a few seconds. The one of a man that’s way too glad to be right, not even considering if he wants to be right. The fake sentiment of wanting to win the argument. Larry gets the soul of his anger. He shares a similar stance if it weren't for searching the meaning of all of this.

Larry really can’t shake how he’s been tearing himself down for so long. It doesn't make any sense, and it’s awfully odd to be aware of it in such a neutral way. He feels split, uneven. He wonders why he always bothers. Why does he lay himself down every night wishing he’d wake up young again? He can’t let those demons in. He probably shouldn't. It's not the first time he got to realize that the circle of self-loathing is up to no actual use. And it’s mostly the soldier in him wanting a fight for what’s right. But the soldier makes mistakes, he ruins a perfectly good wedding. The soldier is selfish...Larry tries to do right by everyone but himself. The soldier just doesn't know how much it hurts to even think about taking those bandages off. Because the soldier is still in there somewhere, dancing by John’s arms. That man stayed behind the new century, deep below the 2000s. That’s how selfish he is. Ignoring the present for the linger, the mere breath of memory. Because it feels better to look back at those sweet undiscovered and exciting feelings again and again than look forward. 

Is there even much of a forward to think about? When they’re not a mission they’re ghosts, waiting for the next hit. The next danger, the next war. And that’s where it just shows how deep the scars get. Are they too thick for him to be able to breathe? Cooking s’nice. Life is somewhat full of beautiful things to enjoy. He’s...Puzzled, to say the least. 

Clifford’s stare is long gone, giving up to look in front of them. Larry finds himself too lost in thoughts to even bother saying anything. The time doesn’t matter anymore, maybe he just failed today. Maybe he doesn’t know what to do. He feels so damn naked. He can almost feel in the day-to-day the lingering tightness of the bandages holding him together. He can feel himself missing them as he realizes he’s hit way too deep. This is so ambitious. He can’t do much about Cliff, or himself. But he can try what he  _ actually _ knows, doesn’t he?

_ -Can I drive your car? _ He asks with a shy smile that feels better than anything else he previously said since they started talking. Something that doesn’t feel out of a book, is too complex and full of random shit he didn’t fix. Nothing based on pain or disappointments, regrets. It’s just a simple man talking over cars. Man talk. And that feels so right. Simple yet so fair. 

- _ Which one? _ Breathes out the young man with an exciting huff, the anticipation hits the air as they hit it off with this new subject. 

_ -Show me what you’ve got. _ He smiles back, feeling the bitter taste of thinking he’s giving up. But also with the simple idea of having fun for once. Maybe they can just..relax for today. They can deal with other stuff later on. Maybe he even can google more stuff. But for now.  Cars sound about just right. >>

  
  
  


**Still now, but later than last time.**

  
  
  


He’s doing that thing again. And he doesn’t really feel properly bad about it. Because Clifford’s smile is downright a sight for sore eyes. It’s just there, he doesn’t know if his attentive timespan got smaller since he owns a cellphone, but he can remember spacing out like this way before they got invented. Thing is, he genuinely likes to listen to Clifford talk about cars. And for most of the basics, he actually was able to follow along. Maybe even dare to ask a few questions on the car, even looking like he knows what he’s talking about. But as the subject grew more specific, he can’t really go on from the basics. His skills in car repairs are the simplest and cars don’t really work the same as they used to. Way more to the latest wire, and update. In less than thirty years, they really got complicated, if not more intricate by mere design. He’s following along for the groundwork, motor, oil, that kind of thing. So every few words he recognizes something, and it makes him nod. And well, Cliff's starry-eyed stare is downright adorable, the way his voice quivers of excitement as he realizes there’s always more to tell. Larry is genuinely learning a lot right now. Even if he’s only half listening. It makes him smile to just look at him, there’s nothing more interesting really. He’s actually surprised at how thorough Cliff is. The robot is usually vaguer, ‘’thing, stuff, shit’’. He’s usually full of synonyms and overall vague ways of indicating something. Almost annoyed or bored. But right now, he’s full of light, his eyes are expressive and somehow it fits him. He says everything’s name to the single bolt. And somehow Larry genuinely can’t help but observe the man’s face. The way the side of his eyes have wrinkles in them, his deep dimples as he smiles, the lines of his jaw. It is really something to see what Cliff identifies as. What he really looks like. And not what Niles’s skills summed up to. Not that Niles hadn’t done fantastic work of keeping a human alive, he did. But this Cliff looked better than their last encounter at the bar. This Cliff didn’t look like he was born with booze in his hand. More like a steering wheel instead. 

It had made Larry chuckle when the driver had decided to drift, making the tires hiss. The hum of the radio playing some indie rock song he wouldn’t know the name of even if he tried. The way the car pulled him on the sides, front and back. He felt his skin slid against the soft material of his shirt, against the tightly held leather of the seats. If God existed, wherever they are, he wanted to thank him. It is such a feeling to be able to touch without the lingering burn of his nerves. It is good for once, to trust his friend with his life in such an amusing way. He huffs with a laugh. 

They both smiled at each other, the sun was lit in such a way that it would catch a side of Steele’s face. And that tint just made Trainor’s heart swell.

Really, it was just nice to see his friend happy for once. Light and carefree. The man had picked up driving rather quickly in this human body. Like picking up a bike, it was really like no time had passed. Perhaps one forgets themselves doing what they love, he figures.

Sure Cliff has driven in his metal body before, he’s actually their designated driver of the bus. He had even managed to work on it himself. Changing the pedals for levers to be able to drive without feet, only hands. Which has been kind of impressive on its own. 

He needed responsibilities and what-nots. He can definitely imagine the man missing something like this. It makes his heart roar, the anguish of not knowing what Cliff will do next. It’s such a sight to behold. 

So yeah, maybe he’s an asshole to forget to listen to the words he’s saying to him. Maybe that’s his burden to bear, for now. Because Clifford’s smile is downright worth every inch of it. Everything seems to vibrate, he’d say it’s melancholy if he wasn’t so sure it was the roaring motor.

Yet he really can’t help it, it had always been there. The way he would just feel outside of his body like life is in slow motion. Like those movies, he’d watch with Cyborg. What was it already..Oh right! Matrix? _ -But he would never say he preferred Rita’s.-  _ Nonetheless, he can remember all the nights he would watch over his life. Like an outsider. It feels...Different. He would watch over his wife’s body as she bends over the bed. Knowing he is moving and maybe talking, following his role in the situation. But not really there, the light in the limelight missing. Only thick fog, the hint of a reaction, too late. His thoughts on delay for barely a second. Too fast to catch, too slow to assimilate.

He could remember that it doesn’t really matter what he’s doing, or when. 

It’s there and he doesn’t even get to notice how it appears and goes away. 

Life is good right now, he is having fun. He gets to feel his heart and mind swell in pride and nice warmth all over. 

Yet, he can’t help but wonder if it’s how Cliff feels all of the time with his body. 

Larry knows his body isn’t much better. He’s an open-end nerve, nagging. Every stroke or whisper hurting him in such a nonchalant way. He deeply hates it. And yet, he can’t imagine the idea of numbness. It’s like...they’re polar opposites. 

Larry feels...empty inside. Too much involved outside. 

And Cliff..he can’t help but think Cliff is too alive for his own good. Like Niles fucked up somewhere, more than he thought. Did he really think putting a brain in a jar would make Cliff less likely to want to be alive? Was he really just an experiment to see if it could be done? This was such a punch in his gut. Larry felt somewhat relieved, knowing it was his own fault that he crashed. He should have stayed home. Took care of things, but the coward’s way had found his heart and mind. And there’s not a single day where he does not regret It doesn’t feel that simple for Cliff, with Niles rolling his way in the corridors. Right under Cliff’s nose, like a taunt, because no one else would know how to repair him if he broke.

But that choice, he doesn’t think Cliff could actually pinpoint one. One that led him to be here. In this desert state, losing his sense of reality. It had been stolen from him. 

And that realization broke Larry Trainor’s heart. 

Sure he knew before, he kind of had his own shit to think about. 

But now that he gets to see what Cliff happy looks like. 

He can’t help but want to fix this. 

It makes his heart stings to know there’s no easy way out. There’s no cop-out, no..solution. It’s just them, alone in a big mansion. Looking for meaning. 

He can’t fix this.

In the real world, they’re ghosts in the living. Not truly living but not quite alive.

And Larry couldn’t feel more proud to have come back in the daydream place. Because nowhere looks interesting and free as they are right now. He really wishes he wouldn’t have to go back. It really hits him in the gut, to think of his actual body waiting for him back there. It’s the least they can afford. This time, together.

_ And Cliff looks so unaware.  _

Why does everything have a cost? 

  
  
  
  
  


**Somewhen, somehow.**

  
  
  


Rita had spotted Jane’s nightly visits. Sometimes she would linger a few seconds too long against the frame of the door. Hearing the words thrown at Cliff. They really got her to feel for Jane in a way she hadn’t yet. It was one thing to see the...tough exterior and shell. To banter with her and just try to understand her pain. Limited by her own. And another to hear her cry and tell Cliff she loved him whilst hating him to be gone. 

She almost became glad to only see Baby Doll in daylight. Because it meant she didn’t have to talk with Jane about this. Because..No matter how hard she tried, Rita didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know how to fix herself! How would she even  _ dare  _ to start? She had no ground and no right to do this. It was grief, and it wasn’t because she thought of Cliff dead. Oh no, she knew he would come back at one point. She was sure of that, actually. Because they all did! For the most stupid of reasons, as if that made the matter worse. They hadn’t lived all of this for Cliff’s demise to be himself. No matter how poetic and self-pitying it sounded. She couldn’t imagine any other way. 

In daylight, Baby Doll and Dorothy were like a breeze. It kind of pleased her to teach the girls things, it tapped into her need to be listened to. And hearing their happy moans over her food always found its way into her ego. Such a thing she craved for lately. It really got her thinking about what it meant to be a parental figure to children. She didn’t need to do all of this, but with Niles barely there. Kipling in and out, Cyborg...There way too many men for two little girls to be able to learn a woman’s way of things. It was a damn shame. She had loved to learn Dorothy how to sew, the girl was a quick study and she really improvised well. But Baby doll would grow easily bored and would end up playing with toys as they all talked. It was very..wholesome. It made her heart sting in such a way she didn’t know how to deal with it. She would sometimes feel the gravity pull her down, her face leaking in such ways that weren’t proper for the activity. 

The biggest of all is when Dorothy had compared her to an Aunt, she had almost said mother, but Rita suspected her own flinch had spoken for itself. 

  
She was no mother, even if she liked the idea of the term, she didn’t want it for herself. 

It sounded horribly hard, tough. Housewives draining all her youth on dirty floors, to ungrateful husbands. Mothers really were getting the short part of the straw. She had not wanted any part of it. Or at least not until she grew old and had somewhat of a decent man on her side. But with everything being what they were.. She didn’t see it happening anytime soon. It was grief on its own. But dealing with the girls was almost a breeze. She was..An Aunt. Because whenever they got bored, they would simply run away. And Rita’s responsibility with them. Which was really a blessing in disguise. She could handle a few hours of motherly grace and gaze. But she didn’t see herself do this every single day, hour and breaths. She wasn’t patient enough for such a lifetime responsibility.

The idea of a mother doing everything..It would really make her shiver if she made herself think about it too long. An aunt she was. And that felt way nicer to incorporate in her behavior. She wanted less to fix what the girls would say, but instead, let them talk and figure it out by themselves. It wasn’t her responsibility, it  _ never  _ had been. 

Yet she really loved those two. They made great company in this dusty old mansion. 

Better than the overplayed records, of which she knew every lyric to by heart. Better than the cold embrace of her bed. She used to think children were monsters in their own way. And yes, some of them are. But these two are the kind of monsters she could see herself fit in nicely.

  
  
  


**Back to our dearly beloved Ship**

It really took half a second. For this heaven to become a wreak. They only had wanted to feel the rush of speed, the fun of sharing such a thrill. Cliff had accelerated, his hand on the shift to compress the motor in order to release soon. His skin was tan and his hand was for the lack of words, attractive. The way it pulled tight, the veins prominent under the layer of his skin, casting a slight shadow on their own. Larry didn’t own the time to think upon that thought. It went exactly too fast for him to bear. Somehow, in this fraction of time, the crowd cheered. The colors of their car slid to an off -tint of blue and white. Larry didn’t register yet that Cliff's helmet was keeping him from hearing anything. 

If he learned anything about Nascar races, it's bad news. It’s not made for two human beings, it’s barely made for one. He starts getting worried as he feels the car pace increase, he doesn’t own a seatbelt anymore, the tug of it is gone against his chest. He searched hurriedly for a way to grip something. His legs pull up on the seat as he realizes he has nothing to hold onto.

Nothing feels enough, everything seems to run at a pace that is way higher than the worlds. Cars bypass them so close it’s dangerous and Cliff grunts to himself. His face is mushed in between the helmet’s guard and his glasses. There’s no way Larry's surviving this. How could he? 

Whatever Steele is wearing is the amount of protection he’s lacking. He’s aware he’ll break free and hit first the dash, or perhaps fly away in the windshield and meet the hot embrace of the asphalt. The seconds of fear lingers in the pit of his stomach. He’ll shit himself eventually, from fear or by death. He doesn’t feel in a hurry to know which wins. 

<< _CLIFFORD._ He screams under the car’s mighty roar. _You need to stop right now!_ He says as he picks up on his voice changing a few octaves as he feels the fear rising into him. _Cliff, Please Stop!_ He begs loudly, but the scream that answers him informs him Cliff is listening to someone else. 

_ -What!?  _ Screams the older voice of his best friend. A few seconds pass before he adds.  _ We’re racing here Pop! _

Larry can’t help but feel lost and helpless, his anxiety was high, but it went to overdrive when Cliff decided to look towards the side of the road instead of in front.

_ What the fuck.  _ Cliff adds confused, way calmer than he should be in such a situation.

It doesn’t take long before it goes wild. 

_ You’re fucking my wife! _ He says bewildered. In such a haze of anger that it makes Larry hyper aware of the car on their left. But the left car that had now decreased behind them wasn’t the current threat. The scream that left Clifford’s lung was piercing. He pushed the wheel towards their right in anger. Flaunting the front of the car in the rear end of the green Kenwick number five. It started making a high turn under the full power of being pushed. He felt the cut of the breaks hit and he felt a high sting into his hand trying to keep himself against the seat. Larry couldn’t help his yelp, scared shitless. 

- _ CLIFFORD NO! _ >> He let out in the midst of the other man’s roar. It died out quickly as their both voices screamed, the Kenwick had taken up space in front of them. They both knew it. It started to tunnel so fast that-

  
  


.

  
  
  
  


.

  
  
  


.

  
  


.

-He felt the tight cold mist of his pants itch his crotch. His body shudders against something big, something bigger than him. His mind felt both overwhelmed and empty.

He cannot help but grip whatever he is onto deeper. His clothes don't seem to follow. It tugs at him annoyingly. His movements squish the liquids into his pants, the smell hits his nose, it’s acidic in remembrance. It makes his eyes tear up even more,the tears burn as they collect onto his gauzes. He feels an ugly sob tear down his throat. His nostrils got way too runny, he lifted his hand to go clean it but the gauzes only went moister. It felt sticky and it was way too much for him to concentrate. He felt hotwired. He tried to huff away his body out of his current position but his jeans and t-shirt felt stuck to whatever he was holding.

He screamed himself out as they ripped. He fell onto his ass and opened his teary eyes to see the dead stare of Cliff still on the still seat. He heard the muffled noise of a whine from behind him on his right. But it was all too much. The way his vision was blurred, all he could see was how dead Cliff is. How he had been cradling a dead body. Oh god, he needs to breathe but his whimper seems to take all the room. He looks down to only see the ripped clothing, humid gauzes and he doesn’t feel any better. When he moves his head too fast, his eyes don't catch light and shape as well. He sees the blob of light that’s orange in hue, one he recognizes by memory to be the furnace working. He pushes himself towards the side as his ass stings so much he’d wail. He tries to take a step up to walk but misses a step and falls on his knee. The muffled rough sound becomes louder and he catches two angry confused brown eyes before running away towards the stairs. His lungs are on fire. He can’t feel anything else but the way metal pushes at his throat. It’s like a crowbar pushing on his adam’s apple. He needs to-...When he finally reaches his room, he closes the vault with difficulty. 

His stare never looks away from in front of him. He starts to take off his coat, he straddles off his glasses in one grip and throws them onto the bed. He can feel the way each of his movements is followed by an itch. There’s liquids down to his ankles and he can feel the air against it. He starts to tear at his gauze with a desperate whine. When he finally feels naked, without anything on his face or body. He catches the sacred stare in the mirror, the monster looks at him and he can’t help but hate him. Hate how lost he looks, how ugly he is. He walks up to it with an angry huff. Feeling both his skin and the mirror break under the pressure of the punch. He wails as he moves frantically. It hurts, but it’s more manageable than the way the air irritates his skin. He walks up to the next room and starts a valve. He then lets himself fall flat on his ass in the corner. Letting out all the tears he’s been accumulating, his shudders seems never-ending. He can’t help but feel the cold embrace of space. The way the first crack of glass reached the shell of his ear. The Car-The car-.

He feels water reach his body, he screams. It’s hot. Too Hot. He needs to be clean, he needs- He feels his breathing get heavier. His skin is dull, he lets his arm lay on the side of the floor. He feels like an exposed nerve when the water tank changes from hot to cold. But this time he’s silent. The pain dulls down to his chest. The tears mix in well with the water in it’s the destination of the drain. 

_ Perhaps he’s not made for life after all. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming back and letting urself known. (Hits, kudos, or otherwise. Feeds my ego, I won't fit most doors soon.   
> Nevertheless, random rant about how I forgot to add like 550 words on the last chapter so I added em at the beginning of this one. Welp. Bigger chapter for y'all!   
> Seamless isn't it? jk, I see it so now you see it too. 
> 
> See you in a few weeks! 
> 
> -19 October 2020-
> 
> -AD-


	9. -9-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita and Larry share a little heart to heart. No one seems quite ready to let go of the hotbox laying in the basement, I wonder why. 
> 
> Gee, what's happening to Nobody? Is he actually getting what he deserves? Maybe, you'll see. 
> 
> Let's give hope to the broken Woody as if that won't make Buzz Light Year any less lost in this scary world. Maybe this chapter will be worth your while, after all this time. You might have forgotten about this fanfic. But let's hope not. Larry and Cliff need help. That won't change anytime soon. Put your seatbelts on, I'm learning,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As said in the so elegant summary, yes, it's been what, 3 months? My bad, really, but hey, I never quit. I actually just had to delay things, life being what it is. if you haven't forgotten about this and got the email, the notification, or have fallen on this fic and is binging it in the future. See you later and have fun to read the mess that makes me smile. It's wack and not edited by someone else than my blind eye. If you see too many errors that it makes your brain go BEEP BOOP, maybe Chief can help with that. Who knows. 
> 
> Anyhow, for real, thanks for giving it a try. Means lots.

**Today? Tomorrow? Who Cares.**

It felt frigid. The days that followed what happened with a deep hollow into his chest. It’s not that he’d rather be anywhere else, it was more of a matter of  _ when _ . Nothing felt more selfish, everyday was a reminder of his failure. Nothing so big that he hadn’t ignored before, he could do this. It wasn’t his job, right? Perhaps there was even a part of him that was actually relieved when someone reached for his shoulder. 

Even if it stung, the sight of Rita had made him exhale in a timid breath. It’s not that he’s been avoiding others until everything settled, but the idea that he now owed Kipling more than just what he promised. And all of that for no results. Or none that actually mattered. Hit deeper in his core, that he actually failed Cliff.

As far as he knew, Cliff was still under there, unknowing of his fate. Or avoiding it too. He wasn’t all that sure anymore. He didn’t even know what he preferred at this point.

<< _ I think we’re past this point in our friendship where I’m allowed to tell you this. _ She said under pursed lips. Her tone was quite serious, when one talked to Rita Farr, they knew by how serious the discussion was by the way her voice would grow more intense, as her eyes widened. The way she would use one of her roles, simply to help herself look more understanding. Thing is, it’s real life, and he can’t even feel worse about the fact she was using her cheap acting tricks on him. 

_ It’s obvious you’re longing to do something.  _ She argued on her own, and he continued to read his book as if nothing was bothering him. Nothing at all actually. _ You’re being obtuse and butthurt. I don’t know what happened, but it must have been pretty bad.  _ She says, almost talking to herself. 

She wasn’t entirely wrong, but she didn’t get to know that. 

- _ Leave me alone Rita, I’m reading. _ He says nonchalantly, not daring to get into it. In the fear he’ll get into one of these tangents, those who always end up fuelling bad ideas. He has no strength for more of those. He’s had his own quota of bad ideas. All of his life is a lexicon on what to not do. 

- _ I think you noticed by now that a book won’t be the end of me. Not when you so desperately need a friend.  _ She says as she puts a hand on his arm. He almost recoils by reflex. To which she withdraws quite quickly, with too much of an understanding tone. 

- _ Is that what you are?  _ He says as he bites back the fact he said it out loud. It sounds harsher and he wonders how come she hasn’t already run off. He’s already sorry she came here to begin with.

- _ Of course! Don’t be rude, we’ve lived too much to not call ourselves family by now, righ- _

- _ Is that what a friend does? Family? Ignoring the fact there’s a dead body downstairs? Not even trying anything to help? _ He says as he gets riled up too easily. She barely said anything and he seems to be already boiling in rage.  _ Is that all he is for you? _

- _ You tell me. You gave up too _ . She says in a quiet but confident voice.    
  


All that rages delves into shame. Vile, bitter guilt as he closes his book. He gets to see her determined and sad stare. But he’s glad she doesn’t get to see the hurt in his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to hide it if it wasn’t for the bandages. He recoils mentally further at the blames that shift. 

- _ But at least I tried! I didn’t see any of you trade, try or say anything to help. _

He breathes out in a saddened moan, he can feel the way the build-up of silence has gotten him in dire need to let out his thoughts. He just wished Rita wouldn’t be his scapegoat. 

She huffs and waits for a second, blinking in the confusion. 

_ -I don’t recall myself being able to fuse with him on command. I’m sorry if taking care of the others whilst he’s gone is not enough for you. But I think I’m doing rather well. _ She says under one breath, almost swearing at him. 

- _I can’t be the only one doing it all! I’m not his father, his lover, I’m barely his friend. I don’t..I don’t have a single idea of what I’m needed there for._ He barks out in a confused stare towards the woman’s slim shoulders. He can’t face her eyes yet, not knowing he failed. 

Why even bother? They all don’t know what’s to be done. And he’s broken, he has no idea how to fix any of them and it isn’t his job! 

- _ But you love him, just like we love you. And I think it means enough. It has to. _ She answers back as if it’s a gospel she has enticed herself with.  _ I won’t lie, I wouldn’t want to be in your place. But you’re the only one who managed to do it. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you, but you still can do it. We did worse, we did absolutely way worse than that. This is.. a ride in a park. _

- _ I don’t know what he needs, what he expects. I can’t seem to get him to talk or to go home. I wouldn’t exactly call that a walk in the park.  _ He pleads with such an insecure need for soothing words. He sees her hands reach out for him again and he forces himself to breathe. As he feels her hand on his wrist. Even with all of the bandages, he can feel the heat she emits. 

She smiles rather softly, it even makes him uncertain to notice how she seems understanding. 

- _ Just... _ _ Ask him. You can’t guess what you don’t know.  _ >>

_. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

**You must know how this works by now.**

Refueling bad ideas. It was them alright. Making mistakes one after the other. 

Thing is, things rarely feel like mistakes just before consequences hit the door and you managed to say as little as ‘ _ ’Oh fuck’ _ ’ that you find yourself to be fucked. It’s what Mr.Nobody craves even less than to be in a low budget show ever again. 

And yet there he is, managing every inch of magic and mind-shattering voodoo to manage to hit the knife laying there. What he did not anticipate is how literal that was. He had fallen at high speed and really easily from the canvas’s spot. The rip of the fabric had been heard as a tornado. An actual force of nature he had not dared to move as it happened. He had feared to be ripped apart again. The event had been quite a rollercoaster. The fall had been exhilarating. But once that he was on the knife, he had not anticipated gravity. As he is limitless on the daily, this new square of rules is less than amusing to adhere to. He cannot escape the reality that has become his. His power translated into moving actually, an inch by an inch. It was such a combination of hopes, anger, and frustration that made him scream every jump of the way. The worst had been trying to rip the canvas enough for himself to be only on a few meters of canvas and remain cohesive. Now that he was not restrained by the weight of wood, nails. He was almost as free as the wind. 

_ Almost _ is an important keyword. He was getting aware of the irony of this story. As one challenge ended, another started. The thick shadow of the couch had hidden most of the piece he was enticed with. Had he not anticipated the vacuum to swallow him whole. And the dust, mites, and knick and knacks accompanied him into the deep pit of darkness. He might have sworn his mouth off, if it wasn’t for the dangerous looking thumb pin he did not want to carry to freedom.

This manor is cursed. He has no other explanation for this mess. Other than the sadism of an omnipresent voice in the dark. He had no other urge than to kill it, for he, was the story maker. The beloved charming narrator, he made the rules. And he would not adhere to this new set of rules this incompetent was laying on him. Oh no, he had more to give. He had not given in his flesh and blood for nothing. If he dared to be cocky, he would call it the sacrifice of his anchor to the world. He will not be locked again in this piece of thread called a canvas. He will not be ignored once again. That was for sure.

  
  


.

.

.

.

.

**Back to our self-deprecating hero. Or Zero, depending on who you ask.**

Larry hadn’t found himself breathing easy at night before now. He still had tons of things pilling up on his chest, lungs and heart. But it seemed so insignificant now, but that talk with Rita had him hoping again. And he wanted to hate it, hate it so bad that he wouldn’t get starry-eyed anymore. But as days came by, he was not to deny he already missed the bot. He could miss the way he didn’t get to hear his heavy clunk in the stairs. His deadpan humor and sarcasm, the way he would never stop trying. 

Until he did. 

Larry didn’t expect what was coming into his dreams that night. This felt like the way they usually start, sweet and hopeful. Before it turns into a self-hating nightmare. He wished for the beginning of his dreams to never end or to simply start with the torture itself so he didn’t have to feel like tonight was any different. If he was to be hating himself, either way, he’d rather get over it already. Life wasn’t great if you had to live your nightmares awake or not, day in and day out. 

But curiosity did kill the cat. 

<< _What do you want me to do with Cliff?_ He said, broken in the memory of his lover.

The soldier, the one that died back then doesn’t like this, it breaks the cycle of his fantasy. And Larry can feel the strain headache of anger that floats into his head. But the sight of his lover’s face seemed to appease something, if anything. He hurted before, this wouldn’t be any new. 

What felt new, was to face the fact they both knew this wasn’t John. They both know this is a recreating of the memories, but it’s as fake as every dream can be. And he has the mighty hint that the alien is even controlling that nowadays. Even if he hates to think he lost control of even that part of himself. 

_-Remind him of what’s waiting for him home._ Answered John as he nuzzled his neck,

The stars did look wonderful from the cozy nest of their love. The pick-up arrangement towards an empty field wasn’t all that bad either. 

_-I didn’t expect you to actually answer. What made you answer me this time? After all those times I’ve tried to engage._ He says in between an eager breath of thrill, surprised by how broken this moment now feels, he is almost overwhelmed at how this simulation feels fake now. It’s one thing to play pretend, another to stop the show. 

- _You asked._ He said somewhat simply, stars in his eyes. His eyes felt less than human, colder, and unimaginative. It made the cozy nest feel like a trap. With something he rather didn’t know anything about, something that’s not even terrestrial.

- _I always do. And you leave me hanging._ he says somewhat frustrated, by the simplicity of this stupid answer. 

He smiles, and Larry can’t help but feel confused by the sight. The smile is haywire, it’s inhuman and rather sweet in the same instant. 

- _Or maybe you weren’t ready to listen._ Says the cryptic voice of his past lover, it feels like a ghost is past his lips. And Larry can’t help but feel like a cold shower has been drained out of him. From his every limb, he cannot shake the embrace of emptiness. 

_ -That’s bullshit, I w-- >> _

He feels dizzy as his eyes turn within themselves, before opening vividly. He reaches the connection in his brain that makes him remember this is the roof of his room. And yet he feels so far away. 

Larry hates how his eyes are blurry. How he can feel tears coming to meet the nook of his neck. How a few seconds ago, his skin was pristine. And now all he can see is mistakes. But somehow, his heart is beating hard and warm. And he doesn’t really get why it makes him smile.

This shouldn’t be making him smile. 

Yet there he is, wishing he could hug Clifford like he never got to before. 

The idea that might happen at all, was worth the thrill of wanting to go back there. To let him know the good side of this. Even if he was hardly seeing it himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEEP BOOP, explanations, interlude. Whatever you wanna call it, had to be done. Wish you well, will drop some drama in the near future. What is near you ask? Well..less than three months will be more than swell. That's the goal. Thanks for making it to now, have a nice day, night, or hour. (?) Perhaps we'll see each other in the next chapter? If you think so, mind letting me know what you think? I don't bite and appreciate the feedback. Nevertheless, a kudos will do if you are lazy or just shy. I'm a fanfic reader too, I get it. Now hush, I need to go back to the hellhole I came out from.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written right after I saw 04, I felt nothing but angst and I got an idea that, if I got enough time I'll get to explore. Tune in if you wanna see some magic head/mind/dream encounters between our lovely broken cliff and larry. Yeah, it is exactly what you think it is right now. Let's get them a bit of fluff and angst, but more importantly, lets get them some familiarity first.


End file.
